Insecurities in Love
by AliceHeart247
Summary: A set of one-shot moments vaguely based around the theme of insecurities. Varying time periods, character styles, and situations. Summaries in each chapter. E/C fluff and angst.
1. Chapter 1: Awake

**A/N: This is to be a collection of one-shots loosely based upon the theme of insecurities and doubts. All of it will be E/C of varying time periods, cannons, and styles. I will try to put in a summary for each one, though all (unless something drastic changes) will be rated T. I cannot and will not be held responsible if they have repetitive themes (I wrote these on my typewriter at odd hours and in varying degrees of emotional stability). *shrugs* Enjoy!**

 **Summary: Erik suffers a nightmare and his wife is the only one who can calm his frightened mind.**

Chapter 1: Awake

Christine looked through bleary eyes at her husband lying beside her in bed. He was curled up on his side, his back rounded toward her. He flinched inwards a few times, whimpering as he did. She knew even in her still sleep-clouded mind that he was having a nightmare, but it was not until he sat bolt upright, screaming, that she knew she needed to help him.

'Erik!' she cried, sitting up with him, now also fully awake. She gently put her arms around his shoulders, softly trying to coax him to turn and face her. She saw his glowing eyes find her in the darkness, the sleep fading from them quickly.

'Christine!' he all but wept, lunging forward to wrap her in a crushing embrace. His enthusiasm for the hold nearly knocked her over but he quickly began to rock them back and forth as he sobbed into her. He said her name a thousand times over as he stared manically over her shoulder, clutching the back of her head to his chest fiercely and pinning her waist to his as if he was trying to rescue her. He shook as he breathed, though it turned more to gasps the longer he continued.

'Erik, darling, calm down. It's all right. I'm here. Just relax, dearest,' she said, trying to sooth him. She wondered what she would do if he fainted on top of her. She was already having trouble getting air through his insanely possessive grip.

Finally, his grasp began to loosen. Christine was able to hold him back a bit, searching out his eyes. 'Darling, look at me. Tell me what's wrong,' she urged, knowing his nightmares were often quite vivid and disturbing, especially when they made him act out like this. She had never seen one quite this bad before, though.

'I couldn't find you,' he choked out in his sobs. 'I looked everywhere, but you were gone. Then I saw the blood and, oh! Christine! I'm sorry! I couldn't protect you. You died and there was nothing I could do. I failed you! I held you and you were so cold. Oh, Christine, don't leave Erik! He _loves_ you! He _needs_ you!' He continued to weep into her, his fingers straining to find the strength they had possessed earlier, but he was too exhausted to cling. Christine watched his pitiful display as he wept incoherent words and begged her of things she would never know.

'Erik. _Erik!_ Calm down. I'm fine. I'm safe here with you. It was all just a dream. Just another of you awful nightmares. There is nothing to be afraid of. I'm here and I'm not…hurt.' She tried to pick her last word carefully as she comforted him. She did not wish to upset him further.

'I love you,' he wept into her shoulder as his body slowly began to sag under the weight of his tears and exhaustion. He had not slept a whole night through in some time. These dreams often kept him from sleeping, and he had to resort to simply lie beside his wife and watch over her while she slumbered in his arms.

'And I love you, my dearest husband.' She turned her head to kiss his hair, dark and slightly ruffled from his tossing and turning. She always felt that this was when she truly got to see him, absent of his formal appearance and mask with his whole upright persona discarded to stay closer to her. She loved these moments when they could be purely themselves, though the disruption the nightmare had caused was not a favoured turn for their time together.

Pulling him gently, she slid him down until he was more or less lying on top of her. He positioned his head to lean on her collarbone, his hands coming up to continue his hold on her shoulders. His weight was not so crushing as she had feared as he situated to the side a bit more.

She continued to murmur soothing words to him, shushing him gently when his sobs became hiccups. She held him, nuzzling into him as his tears leaked out and ran down her chest. She played with the tips of his ebony hair, twining her fingers through to his scalp when his tremoring breaths shook through both of them.

'I'm right here, love. I would not leave you for the world.' He tried to nod, to convince himself she was right as usual, but unwanted memories of his dream still invaded his mind. He saw her corpse again, laid out in his arms as he wept into her lifeless form. He buried his face harder to her chest as this came, his sobs breaking loose again.

'Shhh,' she whispered, holding him a little closer and turning to kiss him. She kept her lips there as she murmured into him, 'It's all right now. I've got you. Nothing is going to hurt us. Shhh, just relax, my love.'

'I love you, Christine,' he told her again, trying to calm once more. 'I love you so.'

'I know you do, darling. I know. You don't need to be afraid, love. There is nothing to worry about. You're safe in my arms tonight.'

Erik moved to look up into her eyes. She smiled down at him sweetly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He leaned up some to receive another on the lips.

'Do you want to go back to sleep?' she asked when he had returned to his spot beneath her chin.

He shook his head earnestly, but not enough to jostle her. 'I do not want the nightmare to comeback.' Christine winced inwardly at hearing the terrified child in his voice. This truly had been one of his worst nightmares she had seen. He only ever sounded this way when frightened to the absolute core.

'They won't, my darling,' she assured him. 'I'll make sure they don't come back. I won't let them hurt you again.'

He whimpered slightly and buried his face into her shoulder. From the gaping hole that made up his nose she could feel the broad puffs of air as they rushed across her skin in moments of sudden warmth.

Humming a little lullaby from her childhood, she felt his body slowly grow heavier on hers. His breathing quieted down and his muscled started to give way to their exhaustion. Christine nestled one last kiss into his hair as he slept before letting her own body ease into the embrace. She held him to her breast protectively as she matched her breath to his newly steadied rhythm.


	2. Chapter 2: Waiting

**A/N:** **Summary: Christine has to deal with a lot of clinginess from her beloved, but she accepts it with dignity. Semi-modern A/U.**

Chapter 2: Waiting

Christine dried her hair off in front of the bathroom mirror. She enjoyed these miniature moments of escape. Not that living with Erik was bad, but it became a bit of a struggle some days.

She loved him dearly, certainly. They had been through enough together to prove that several times over, but there were still days when she wished for some moments to herself. Where she would not have to reprimand to the more blunt thoughts that sifted through her head and may be taken more deeply than she intended, or when she could judge her appearance without him swooping in to assure her she was perfect. She liked to look at her imperfections and know that though they made up who she was, she did not have to like all of them. Erik proclaimed to love every ounce of her, and she would be a fool not to believe him. He nearly kissed the ground she walked on. He loved her completely, and though she loved him for it, for accepting her entirely, she wanted a bit of criticism here and there. She did not wish to form some great ego over his constant admiration of her every action. She needed to remain human, despite his beliefs that she was an angel. Still, she loved him for all that he did for her. Every act was in what he considered to be her best interests. This lead to more than a few arguments between them, but they were always resolved with apologies and promises from both sides to be better.

Slipping on her nightgown and hanging the robe she knew he favoured over her arm, she breathed in one more breath of the warm, slightly damp air. She opened the door, wondering how Erik's day of work had been. He had been so busy writing his latest masterpiece, she was not even certain he had heard her when she announced she was going to take a shower.

Stepping out of the bathroom revealed a surprising sight.

Looking down, she saw the huddled black form of her beloved. He was hugging his knees, sitting on the floor to direct his somewhat distant gaze at the bathroom door. It took a moment of her confused staring to break him from his trance. He looked up at her, finally having noticed the door's wood grain had been replaced by the smooth skin of her freshly shaven legs. He gazed up at her with innocent, amber eyes. Were it not for his incredibly lanky form and perhaps the mask that covered the right half of his face, she would have thought him just a lost little boy.

'You're finished,' he observed, his childish tone making her worry. It was his penitent tone; one he used when scared or thought her angry with him. It was the tone that make her wish she knew and understood his past better.

'Yes,' she said slowly, wondering where this was leading.

'I waited for you,' he told her, once more stating the obvious. 'I-I missed you,' he finally admitted, ducking his head into his knees.

She could have sighed in aggravation at his neediness, but she knew she was guilty of such feelings with him, too. Instead, she went with the more patient approach, worrying anything too sudden would make him run off like a scared rabbit.

'Oh, darling,' she sighed sympathetically. 'You didn't need to do that. You know I try not to stay in there too long.' He nodded, but something in it told her he was not fully convinced of her reasoning. 'And besides,' she continued, shifting her stance some. 'I told you I would be taking a shower this evening.'

Again he nodded somewhat noncommittally.

'Erik.' She looked at him, feeling concern grip her.

'I'm fine,' he told her, standing to his full height, but still keeping his eyes downcast. Christine tried to smile for him, but it did not seem to work. Stepping forward, she wrapped her arms about his thin torso. She nuzzled her face into his chest, feeling his arms come delicately about her.

'I'm sorry I'm so much trouble to you,' he muttered into her hair. 'I know sometimes you just need to get away from me—'

'I love you.' Her words silenced him. She felt him hold her tighter. She was not denying his claim, but simply putting off his deeper worries. So long as she loved him, she knew they would be happy.

'I love you, too,' he said just before she stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss him.


	3. Chapter 3: Home and Heart

**A/N: I thought it was rather cruel to make you all wait a week and a half only to get a one-shot that was less than a 1000 words, so here is a bonus. Make sure to read chapter 2!**

 **Summary: Erik comes home after a long trip to the loving arms of his Christine. Modern A/U.**

Chapter 3: Home and Heart

Erik walked down the long hallway, happy to finally be off that damned contraption people called airplanes. He was gladder, however, just to be home again. The silicone mask he had been wearing was starting to itch, though its use was paramount to travel. He was happy to be back in this city, to smell the familiar scent of the air, to hear the sounds of people passing, but most importantly, his darling love.

He came round the last bend, preparing to see the rest of the rabble of his flight milling about uselessly as they waited for their taxis or possibly their loved ones. People swarmed in a way that had always annoyed him. Why, when man had come so far in making themselves appear civilised, did they still see fit to stand in the middle of walkways or streets like cattle when lost? There was plenty of room to either side for them to wonder where they were meant to go, but no. They stood directly in the way of every other human, threatening to pass their stupidity to more. _No wonder people have wars so often_ , Erik thought with an eye roll.

Just when he began to look for the sliding automatic doors to take him to the massive car park and away from the rest of the idiotic humans, he caught the dangerously wonderful blue eyes he had been dreaming about each night for the past two weeks of his much hated business trip.

'Christine,' he breathed, feeling certain she could not have heard. Still, at his single utterance, she rushed forward, tears instantly springing to her eyes. Somehow—and he would never be exactly certain how she did it—she managed to get through the aimless wanderers to fly straight into his much missed arms.

He stumbled back slightly at the force of her launched embrace, but his eager arms would be damned before he let her go. Nothing in the world would pry her from him now.

He happily buried his face into her hair, pulling her as tightly to him as he could without harming her. He savoured the feeling of her own arms securely wrapped about his neck as her head snuggled into his shoulder. He pulled back only to kiss her head, muttering a hundred "I love you" and "I missed you"s.

'I missed you too, my love,' she softly whispered to him, letting her smile graze his neck before she kissed him there. He hummed happily into her in response. He felt one of her tears slide down his neck and found himself gasping and blinking away a few of his own.

'Darling, don't cry. You will make me start and then we will both be messes,' he asked of her half-heartedly.

She replied by pulling back to look him in the eye. She smiled at the sight of his mismatched irises, one ice blue and the other warm gold. Bringing her hand up to his masked cheek, she let the heat of her palm seep through the plastic's joins to touch his skin beneath. She watched his eyes close in comfort before kissing his lips.

He was somehow never prepared for her kisses, but that did not mean he would not join her in them. He closed his shock-opened eyes again, melting into the bliss that was her lips pressed against his in perfect, flowing harmony. Her little gasps and smiles against him as he dared to deepen it were well worth the fact that they were in public. He pulled back when this thought came rushing to him.

He hummed into her mouth with one last kiss, hating that it should have to end at all. 'My love, perhaps we should finish this at home.'

Christine blushed, nodding as she realised where they were. 'Perhaps you're right.' She slowly slid down from his arms but did not break eye contact as her disappointed longing reflected back in his eyes at their moment being cut short. She knew he did not like the eyes of others on him anyway, so having such a personal greeting was pushing it.

She led him out to the car and went so far as to insist that she drive them home, saying he would be too tired to worry about it. He filled the time with peaceful silence, not wishing to distract her. Occasionally he would comment about how something may have changed in his short absence. He listened to her replies, but mostly lived in hearing her voice. He had missed that glorious sound. The hotel he had stayed at did not have good enough cell reception to talk for very long, so their chats had been short. He refused to have private conversations or share her voice to the din of a coffee shop. He had reluctantly explained to her that they would have to wait for his return to truly enjoy each other's company.

Getting out of the car, he took a sigh of relief to see their home. It was more secluded but with plenty of access to the city. He took her hand as she opened the front door for them.

Any anxiety left over from the flight fled from his muscles and shoulders the instant he observed the living room. It was just the way he had left it. He was finally home again.

'You go put away your luggage. I'll make us some hot cocoa,' she told him, giving him a sly smile at the mention of his favourite bedtime treat. He occasionally would sip it while reading. To Christine, this habit made the most beautiful image.

He returned her smile as he leaned over to kiss her on the lips gently before heading off to their bedroom. He listened to her in the kitchen as he unpacked his suitcase. He tucked away all of his things, smiling as he heard her start to hum while she worked. It was one of his favourite pieces, made all the better by her voice.

He took off his mask, wincing slightly as the glue stuck to the drier skin underneath, but felt the relief he had been longing for as his true face was uncovered once more. He looked to the bed, eyeing the sheets longingly. He felt his eyelids beginning to grow heavier as Christine's entrancing song continued to envelope him in comfort. He decided to compromise with himself as he got undressed, readying for eventual sleep. He would stay awake to lie beside Christine and drink his cocoa. He could practically feel the pleasant weight of her leaned against his chest. He had missed her so. He sat on the bed, covering his legs with the blankets, willing himself to fight the taunting urge of sleep. He caught the soft smell of her pillow. He breathed in the scent of her hair and her light perfume in it. He had not realised how much he had missed every bit of her. He snuggled down a bit further to better breath in the wonderful scents of home.

Christine came in, carrying their mugs of cocoa. 'Here we are—' She stopped, seeing her darling Erik curled up in bed, sound asleep and smiling against her pillow peacefully. It brought her joy to see he was so cosy and at home. She had missed having him here, though she had not realised just how much until she felt the full wave of happiness at seeing him now.

Smiling, she put the mugs on the bedside table, slipping off her clothes and pulling on an oversized sleep shirt. She then happily crawled into bed, careful not to disturb him as she snuggled in beside him. She turned off the light before gently managing to wriggle into his arms. They curled instinctively around her as he held her to him. She kissed his chin lightly and whispered a soft goodnight to him.

At some point during the night, he woke with blurred vision to see her asleep against him. He was surprised, but calmed quickly to kiss her hair. 'I love you, Christine,' he murmured before going back to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4: Attention

**A/N: Forgive me if all of these summaries sound cheesy or if the stories get too repetitive. I try to make them different, but my musings before bed as I snuggle my pillow don't always encourage originality in my imagination. This one, I feel, is strong and unique, though. It also makes me think of one of the themes for** ** _Labyrinth_** **: Don't take things for granted.**

 **Summary: Christine worries she is not good enough for her husband. What will it take for him to notice her again?**

Chapter 4: Attention

When had he stopped watching her every move? When had he stopped giving her glances full of purest admiration? When had he stopped telling her every morning that the sun was dull compared to her smile? When had he started taking her for granted?

In truth, she did not ask for these things. And, more often than not, she herself did not feel she deserved half the praise he had so eagerly bestowed upon her those first few years. But lately, she wondered if she was a terribly selfish person to wish for her husband to give her a second glance. Was she a bad wife for not remaining in his eyes? She had striven fairly hard to keep her figure unchanged, her hair shiny in its curls, and her smile forever affixed in his presence. And certainly her voice had not diminished so much as to warrant such complete neglect and disinterest. What had she done to lose her darling husband's interest, then? Surely he would never go out to seek another's embrace. He had been so very certain that his fortune in finding even her was beyond reason. He used to tell her everyday how very lucky he was to have her in his life, let alone having secured her for his wife. What, then, held him from her now?

Christine entered his study with these thoughts spinning in her head as they often were as of late. He was seated at his piano, his organ similarly covered in his newest compositions just across the room. Back when they had first married, she had insisted that he use the organ in the day and the piano at night for the noise. It was too difficult to play an organ quietly, especially where his works were concerned.

She regarded his back, slightly hunched over the ivory keys in deep thought. In the early days, she had merely to touch his shoulder and he would sway into her, looking up with his never ending admiration and follow her wherever she led. Now, oh, now she had to grip him almost to where he could no longer play, and call his name to get even a hum of recognition of her presence.

'Erik, it's time for bed, my love,' she beckoned gently, leaning over to speak in his ear. She graced his cheek where his mask did not cover—a habit he refused to leave even after her firm insistence—with a soft kiss, hoping to lure him this time.

'Hmm,' he hummed noncommittally. 'I'll be there in a bit.'

Not even a pet name. No endearment, no return kiss, not even meeting her eyes. He broke past her grasp to write something out, frowning when he found her arms restricting his motion. He shook them off callously to continue his work.

She wanted to hit him. She wanted to scream and cry and do anything to garner his attentions once more. She would behave like the child she had long ceased to be, simply to gain a confused look from the man who was supposed to love her more than anything. She accepted his composing, she accepted his being unused to touch, but she did not understand why he no longer desired her. Instead, she simply turned, nodding in resignation, before heading off to their bedroom. She did not leave the light on. She knew it would only be herself and her tears this night. She would cry herself to sleep and try to remember the days when he loved her unconditionally. She would try to dream of the first few years of their marriage and how happy they had both been.

He came in a few hours later, crawling silently into bed. He did not wish her goodnight, though she did try to seem asleep. She held in her silent sobs at his lack of care for her. He did stretch out his hands to her, and she leaned into them, but they quickly recoiled. He was merely stretching. She gasped a sob at this when the bed dipped to show he had rolled over. Their backs were facing each other, and Christine tried to make peace with sleeping another lonely night in bed with her husband.

 _Perhaps if they had had children_ , she thought before shaking it out of her head. A foolish thought, remembering his complete opposition to the matter. He had laid it bare the very night of their marriage. He would _never_ chance conception. He would _never_ risk passing on his face to a child. She had accepted this, and still did. But as their relationship crumbled around them, she began to wonder if it might give her something to do.

Falling asleep, she hoped as she did every night, that things would be better in the morning. They never were, however. She wondered why she still hoped.

* * *

Erik sat at the bench of his piano. He felt no closer to finishing this work than when he had started it months ago. His muse had left him and his hands felt useless. He could not understand it. Those first few years of marriage had been so full of music and life and happiness. Why had his creative wells gone dry? His wife was still there, his hands still worked, and the notes still flowed, but it did not hold the emotion it once had. It reminded him of when he first started teaching Christine, her voice so beautiful, but her tone so dead it hurt to hear. Why had this happened to him? Why now? He had everything. He had the woman of his dreams, music, life, health. Why did he feel so empty?

Something buzzed at his ear and he realised it was Christine. What could she possibly want now? Could she not see he was busy trying to solve a very important problem? He told her would join her in bed later. Perhaps he had been a bit too harsh in his tone, but his mind was elsewhere. _Besides_ , he thought, _he would apologise to her later_. He could kiss her all he wanted when he was done with this last page. Maybe ploughing through with his work would help break whatever block he seemed to suffer from.

His thoughts were interrupted again by a noise, but he ignored it. He continued on: one half note, two quarter notes. Sharp here, flat there, key change and then a new measure begins. There, he had done his bit for the night. Were it not for the weight of his eyelids, he would continue on. He felt so close. Still, he knew Christine would not be pleased. One more page would turn into twenty faster than he liked to admit.

Dragging himself from his work, he stretched his increasingly sore back and trudged off to bed. Surprisingly, he noted that the light was still on, shining into the hallway. Generally he found it off and Christine in bed. From the hall he observed also that the door was still open. Odd.

Then he heard it.

'Erik!'

It was plaintive and hoarse, but holding no less urgency than if it had come ringing through the house as he knew her voice still could.

Rushing into the room with wild eyes, he saw his angel upon the floor, clutching at her foot with dried tears staining her beautiful face.

'Christine!' he cried, hurrying to her side and hovering his hands over her form. 'Christine, what's happened? What—'

He did not have time to get his second question out before a hand came firmly crashing across his face, nearly knocking the mask free. He recovered to see her crying again, her face twisted with rage.

'I'm hurt!' she yelled at him.

'Why did you not call me?' he asked, still nursing his cheek from her blow.

'I did!' she screamed with unmatched fury. Even the attitude of La Carlotta had no match to his darling. 'I called you for the past hour, but you didn't come.' Her tears turned to despair once more as he felt his face and heart fall. He had not heard her. He realised with the draining colour to his face that he had heard her, but had simply ignored her as it took him away from his work.

'I tripped and fell, and I think I may have broken my ankle,' she explained, ignoring his look of guilty shock.

'Why did you not try to get to me?' he asked, already sensing the answer.

'What good would it have done?' she fired at him. 'You hardly notice when I come to get you for bed.' She ducked her head now, her sobs interrupting her words. 'You obviously don't love me anymore. You never hold me, you rarely even speak to or look at me. It took breaking a limb for you to even show concern for me. Maybe it would be better if I just disappeared.'

Erik did not have to think. He pulled her into his arms and wept harder than he had the day she told him she loved him. He cried for all of the days he had ignored her, all of the hours he had taken her for granted, and all of the moments he had missed with her because of his obsession.

He told her this. He spoke it all. He even spoke of his realisation that his music was lacking because he had not been seeing her at all. He had lost his muse because she was not there. That _she_ was his muse and he was lost without her. He renewed his love a hundred times over. He promised every wedding vow all over again. He prayed for her forgiveness until his voice was hoarse like hers. He begged her to love him still. He told her he knew he did not deserve her, that he never had, but that he loved her. He brushed his lips against her cheek, catching the tears which ran freely there. He thanked her for her hair, her eyes, her kindness, her warmth, her heart, her devotion to such a fool as he, and he asked for it all back. He asked her for a second chance.

Turning his face to her, she tore off the white mask that covered it, revealing the deformed and tear soaked flesh beneath. She kissed him. She kissed him as she had when he had asked for her hand in marriage. She kissed him in all of the ways she had missed. She kissed him and whispered in her sorrowfully broken voice, 'I love you.'

He wept once more, this time scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the bed. He spent the rest of the night and week caring for her. He spent the rest of his life loving every second with her.


	5. Chapter 5: Hair

**A/N: Thank you all for your lovely reviews. It has been good to be posting something again. Here is next week's update because I'm going to be pretty busy on Monday (got presents to give and family to visit). Thank you everyone who has favourited and followed this story. I really appreciate all of the love this site gives.**

 **Summary: Erik has some worries over his appearance and how it is aging.**

Chapter 5: Hair

So little was right in his appearance. So very little. So it stood to reason that any good part of him would be one to protect and worry about. His hair was no exception. Christine always loved it. Whenever she held him, her hand would weave through his hair, smoothing it with her wonderfully gentle fingers. Whenever they kissed, she would find her way through his ebony locks to hold his scalp, practically massaging it while her mouth and tongue performed their own magic on his.

One night, shortly after they had married, they had laid in bed, enjoying each other's peaceful company. She had smiled at him, her hand coming up to tease the hair at the nape of his neck. She had looked so beautiful. He had told her a hundred things he loved about her.

'I love your hair,' she had said, leaning in to kiss him before listing several other aspects of him she admired.

It was this sweet compliment that came ringing into his ears now. He stood before the only mirror in the household and wept. In his hand lay a few clumps of black strands. His forehead peeked through a bit more at the brow line now than it ever had before. Tears ran down his face. He stared at his own hideousness and watched one of his few redeeming features fall away. Was God truly so cruel as to take this from him? A shuddering breath wracked through him as he wondered if the same torturous God would take her away too. He slumped against the wall, trying to hear the calming reassurances Christine always filled his ears with. But it did not work that way. He could only receive the comfort, not recreate it. He slid down the wall, his head in his hands as tears continued to fall and gasps caught in his throat.

* * *

Christine had been looking for him for the better part of an hour now. She had checked his study, the living room, the garden, and even the closets. She had been in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner when she noted his unusual absence. He was generally right at her side while they alternated their duties of washing and drying the dishes. The dish rack was now full, but she had no husband beside her to dry them. She called into the dining room, moving to the living room in case he had been distracted by a melody for the piano. He had done this once or twice but he had always come when she called or had been playing the music. No music filled the house now.

She grew concerned as she searched the house and outside. She knew her husband well enough to know he would not be found if he did not wish it. He did not make a habit of hiding from her, though. Especially when he thought she might need him.

She went into their bedroom, wondering if he was not well. She saw that the bathroom door was closed. Walking over it, she knocked lightly.

'Erik, darling, are you all right?' she asked, hoping she was not being rude or too needy. She did not wish to disturb him, but she had a sinking feeling about this.

From inside the bathroom came a sobbing breath. She pressed her ear closer to the door, hearing more of his uneven breathing.

'Erik, my love,' she called through the wood. 'Is everything all right?' she asked again. She heard another shaky breath that did little to convince her he was doing well. 'May I come in, darling?' She hoped she was not prying in asking this. She heard only unintelligible muttering mixed with the occasional watery apology. Setting her shoulders, she tried the knob, happily finding it unlocked.

She pushed the door open a ways, but found it stuck. She pushed a little harder and it finally gave enough for her to squeeze in. She looked behind the door to see what had stopped it and found none other than her husband, his long legs stretched out as he miserably sat on the floor.

'Oh, darling, I'm sorry,' she said, realising his legs had been impeding the motion of the door. 'I didn't know you were down there.' Looking about her at the perfectly clean bathroom, she began to wonder why he was down there at all. Crouching, she came to sit a bit in front of him as he hid his face in his hands.

'Dearest, what's wrong?' she asked calmly, seeing his distress.

'Please love me,' he begged, not revealing his face. She looked up to the counter by the sink and saw his mask. Its empty eye holes stared up at the ceiling blankly. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to her husband and guessed his worry.

'Of course I love you. If I didn't love you, then I would not have married you.' She kept her voice calm. She scooted forward on the floor to place her hand on his arm, slowly moving it aside to see his tear stained and skeleton-like face. She smiled, knowing it was the face of her beloved and devoted husband. She had long come to terms with his looks and instead loved him for them.

He looked slightly upwards at her, his eyes still overflowing with tears. 'I love you,' he whimpered, 'and I'm sorry.'

'Why? Why are you sorry?' She moved a little closer to him, coming to take his hand in hers.

'Because I forced you to marry a hideous monster,' he finally wept as she claimed both his hands.

Her face softened. 'Oh, Erik,' she gently moaned. 'You know I don't think of you that way and you know I don't like you to either. I love you and you did not force me to marry you.'

'But you deserve someone far handsomer than me,' he argued.

'I don't care if they are the handsomest man in the world. I want you. I love you for so much more than your face and you know that. I really wish you would stop giving in to such thoughts. Am I not a caring wife? Do I not show my love for you in everything that I do? Do you not believe me when I say how much I love you, Erik?' He watched her with wide and innocently adoring eyes as she said this. She was not angry but simply impassioned. He worshipped this side of her.

'I do, my darling,' he told her meekly.

'Then why do you cry like this?' she asked, letting some of her worry into her tone. He felt guilt overtake him as she revealed how scared she was for him.

'Because I am not a handsome man, and I fear you shall leave me,' he admitted pitifully. He took in another shuddering breath. 'I love you, Christine, and I fear losing you.'

She did not speak, simply pulling him forward until he was cradled against his chest, her chin on top of his head. She held him there securely, rocking back and forth slightly as he cried.

'Why would I ever leave my husband?' she asked, rubbing his hair and back soothingly.

His sobs increased at this until he pulled back from her some. He kept his eyes down, his hands curling in his lap. 'I'm sorry,' he cried. He wept a little while longer until her hand came to his cheek, guiding his face up to meet hers. She kissed him, letting her lips simply pull a bit at his.

Slowly, he began to catch his breath. He knew she was looking at him expectantly. Reaching up, he ran his hand through his hair before opening his palm to show her.

'I'm losing my hair,' he admitted sadly. He thought of all of the wonderful things she did to his hair and how she may never be there to do them again. He felt the tears start all over again when her voice cut through the despairing fog of his mind.

'Is that all?' she asked, looking between his hand and his downcast face. He looked up at her with such shock, she barely managed to school her features into ones of mild ridiculousness. 'Erik, you thought I would not love you any more simply because you are losing your hair?'

Hearing it put that way, he had to admit it sounded somewhat silly, but again, he had few good features to rely upon. His expression said it all. Pulling him into another embrace, she kissed his hair and buried her cheek into it.

'Though it's true that I love your hair, it is not the only part of you that I find attractive. You are my husband. You are meant to equally gain my love and frustration. Darling, how could you think me so shallow as to only love you for something so superficial?'

'But I don't want to lose my hair. I have so few good features,' he complained.

She kissed him then. 'What about your mouth?' she asked when they parted. 'I adore that. And your eyes are so beautiful. Your little nub where your nose should be always makes me want to kiss it.' She did so, making him shiver with delight as it always did. 'And what of your glorious fingers? They play so perfectly. Your legs are wonderfully long and I'm not even going to mention what is just between them.' She gave him a knowing look, just to make him blush slightly. 'So you see, my love. There are many magnificent parts of you for me to love. Though I will miss your hair, I'm sure we shall survive.'

He kissed her then with renewed passion. He loved his wife dearly. She always made him feel loved.


	6. Chapter 6: The Choice

**A/N: Happy New Year everyone! I'm afraid I'm starting this year off with a chapter that I'm not sure how I feel about. I will admit that it's a bit darker. I did actually look up some of the symptoms for morphine abuse and basically all of them are perfect descriptions for Erik in general. I posted a link on Tumblr about it a while back, but if you or someone you know is suffering from an addiction, please seek help.**

 **Summary: Erik has to choose between his addiction and his love.**

Chapter 6: The Choice

Christine thought she had been very indulgent of her husband's habits thus far in their marriage. Everyone had their quirks and little flaws, and she accepted his and had grown to love as many as she could. She accepted that some she would never love. That was true of anyone. She was sure that deep down there was something he disliked greatly about her. All of the other parts of her were just too strong to let it stop him from loving her. And he loved her. She was certain that no other woman on Earth could boast the love her husband freely gave her each and every day. But there were limits. And, upon their second anniversary, she discovered a limit to her ignoring one of his worst habits.

She had noticed the needle in its small velveteen case long before their marriage. She knew he had trouble sleeping and she was certain that staying up all hours of the night and day playing his organ had not won him any favours from arthritis, but when it inhibited his awareness and mind, she grew concerned.

He laid beside her in bed, both of them too tired to participate in anything beyond sleeping in each other's arms. She reached over to put her arm across his chest, to snuggle into his protruding ribs at his collar, when she noted how deeply he was already breathing. She was used to him snuggling in with her and occasionally watching her as she drifted off to sleep, but tonight he was already there—somewhat. His eyes opened to look at her, but she found them focusing through her instead. His muscles were relaxed to the point that she wondered if they would even work if he tried. He slung a heavy arm over her, trying to make the best of this night. Her husband was there, lying beside her. She would simply have to make do as she had a few nights before.

'I love you, darling,' she whispered, reaching up to kiss him goodnight, but his lips did not even respond. He hummed slightly, but she could not tell what had caused him the mild joy. He seemed to be staring at some distant point in the ceiling.

He did not return the sentiment. This did not bother her immensely, telling herself that she was being too needy to expect more. He already had given her so much of his time and kind words to last a lifetime. They would have a whole lifetime together, after all.

Snuggling in for the night, she tried to ignore it. She tried to hold back the worry for her husband.

* * *

The following morning she awoke to an empty bed. This was unusual for her, but she knew he would often lay awake for a few hours, planning out the day's compositions on her stomach, touching her skin as though it was an instrument. He once played out the entirety of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata on her ribs while she slept. She only woke up to the last few notes. She wondered this morning if the calls of his music had been too much, or he feared losing some grand discovery.

Sighing, she rolled out of bed. She began the day, making herself breakfast and then knocking on his study door to see if he had eaten. She was one of the few people bold enough and favoured enough to disturb him while he was working and live to tell the tale. Once, Nadir had visited and come back out whiter than a sheet with fear in his eyes. He had explained that Erik was not to be disturbed. She had pitied the man, then. She had given Erik a stern talking to, but knew it would not be likely that he would obey her wish of kindness to friends who wanted to see him. There was only so much she could do.

Walking past his door now, after hearing a dismissive mutter, she returned to the kitchen to make him something to eat. When she came back, she knocked a bit louder, sliding into the room but knowing it was unlikely he would even notice her. She was right and she set the food down on a side table that had yet to be overtaken by sheet music. She touched his arm gently, leaning round to kiss his cheek and once more whisper her love.

He hummed distantly, but turned some to kiss her back. He kept his eyes on his work, but she knew that was the best she would be getting right now. She knew better than to expect much when he was so absorbed in composing.

She busied herself throughout the house for the rest of the day with a few mundane chores. She went back to his door at lunch time and knocked but received no answer. Trying again, she pushed into the room to see him sitting at the organ bench, but his hands clearly resting in his lap.

She came in to stand beside him to see what he was looking at, but was shocked to see his gaze unfocused. She gripped his shoulder, trying to shake him out of it, but he remained in his daze.

'Erik?!' she cried fearfully. He slowly turned his head to look through her eyes.

'Hello, my dear,' he said in a dreamy voice. 'Is it time to go to the Opera?' he asked, his mind clearly in another time. Since their marriage, she had insisted they move out of the city. He was too well known there and she did not wish to be pursued by the police.

'No, my love. It is not,' she answered, distress evident in her tone.

'Oh,' was all he said. He turned back to his organ and ran his fingers over it almost reverently. She noticed a spot on his arm where he had rolled up his white sleeve. There were tiny red dots, a few of them surrounded by purple rings, lining the inside of his elbow.

'My love, what happened to your arm?' she asked, pointing to it.

He looked down disinterestedly at it. 'I had a piece of music in my head a few nights ago. I wanted to see if I could get it back,'

'By what means?' She had already guessed the answer but she wanted to see if he would notice the flaw within it.

His eyes looked at her sharply, startling her in their sudden awareness. 'Why? Why must you need to know?!' He had not snapped at her like this in some time and it made her worry only increase. He seemed to soften when he noted her fearful expression. 'Forgive me, my love. I did not mean to startle you.'

She remained silent, eyeing him cautiously. He sighed, seemingly reluctant to answer her.

'Morphine, darling.' He grazed his fingers over the tender flesh of his arm curiously, as though he had never seen it this way before.

Christine paled. She had watched her father waste away to the drug and to consumption. The illness took his body, but the drug had taken his mind. She looked now at her husband, wondering how long before he shared that fate. Did he truly need this so badly?

'Erik, why do you take morphine?' she tested.

'It makes the memories go away,' he told her patiently, but she heard an edge creep back into his voice. 'It makes the music come back.' He looked up at her, then, his eyes starting to fade into their distant haze again. 'Just like you. You bring me music.'

'Then why take it, my love? It will destroy your wonderful mind. Please don't take it anymore.'

He looked at her, or rather, through her as she said, 'But my wife, I must keep the bad memories away. They will hurt you. I cannot let them hurt you.'

She sudden let out a sobbing breath at his protective sentiment. He would do anything for her, but why not stop this?

He grew distressed at seeing her cry, coming forward to hold her. He petted her hair and whispered soothing nonsense in her ear, but it did little to quell the fear in her heart.

At last, she calmed and convinced him to come out of his study. They sat together in the living room, her leaning on his shoulder as they read in the fire light. He was too unfocused to read aloud to her, so she did it instead. He had often told her that her voice was soothing to him.

Slowly, his mind began to clear, and though tired, he seemed relaxed. She persuaded him to eat dinner with her, which he was happy to do when she reminded him he had not eaten lunch. He always felt guilty for not spending more time with her.

They went to bed together, this time enjoying their marital status and their love for each other.

* * *

Christine awoke to an empty bed again, but this time it was not yet morning. She walked into the living room after finding her husband absent from the bedroom area. She quickly located him in his chair before a small fire. The living room was cast into shadows, ominous and foreboding. He was leaned over, his arm outstretched and his eyes focused intently at a spot at his elbow.

'Erik,' she called softly, making him start at the sound of her voice. He looked spectacularly guilty as he met her eyes.

'Yes, my wife?'

'What are you doing?' She came closer to him, making out something shiny in his other hand.

'Nothing you need concern yourself with, my love. Please, go back to bed. I will join you shortly.' He tried to ignore her gaze, acting as though this would be enough to dismiss her.

She persisted, however, and quickly saw the source of his guilty expression. He had a needle in his hand, a rubber tube wrapped low on his bicep, and a fearfully frantic look creeping into his eyes.

'No!' she yelled, stopping him once more with a jump. She rushed forward, prising the needle forcefully from his unsuspecting grasp. 'You have to stop this!'

'Christine, give that back,' his voice held a hint of warning.

'Or what?' she challenged, tears brimming in her defiant eyes. 'Will you hurt me to get it?' She stared down at him and his shoulder fell instantly at her accusation.

'Christine,' he gasped. 'You know I would never—'

'No, but you would hurt yourself and that is just as bad.'

He stared at her a moment, realising what he had almost done.

'Erik, I need you to stop.' She was begging now. 'Please. I can't watch you do this to yourself. I can't watch you die from this. Please don't make me watch that.'

'Christine, I—'

'I need you to choose,' she interrupted again. She held her head higher, knowing this was the only way to be sure he would keep his promise. Putting the needle down on the small side table next to his chair, she looked him in the eye as she slipped off the gold band from her finger. She placed this next to the needle. She backed away from them, holding his crushed gaze and ignoring the utter hurt and betrayal she saw in it. He was almost to tears with her.

'Make your choice,' she said, echoing his own words from so many nights ago. She stood, watching the horror in his golden eyes for only a moment more before leaving the room in a flurry of tears and fluttering fabric from her snow white nightgown.

He sat in a daze, knowing he had completely ruined everything in his life, right when it had been happy for once. He had the woman of his dreams for his wife and he was losing her to an addiction he knew better than to give in to. He loved her too much to see her go away from him now.

He rose slowly, grabbing the precious object from the table and solemnly walked to the bedroom. He could hear her sobs from outside the door, but nothing quite prepared him for seeing her prostrate on his pillow in a sobbing mess. She cried as though she was inconsolable. He shook with her aching breaths and gasped when she did. He took a moment to truly feel the hurt he had inflicted upon his darling wife and dearest love.

Slowly, he reached out to her, his hand trembling as it touched her shoulder. She sniffled, looking up at him with red, puffy eyes. It was enough to undo him. Latching onto her, he pulled her from her position to hold her firmly to his chest as he sobbed over her. He buried his fingers in the rich curls of her hair, his hand pinning her to him in a desperate attempt to hold her in his reality.

'Oh, my love. My Christine! How your Erik has hurt you. Please forgive him! He would never mean to hurt you. You are everything to him! He loves you! He- _I_ love you, Christine!' he wept into her, coming in and out of his bad habit of third-person speech. 'I will never touch it again, I swear it! I shall do anything you wish of me, but please,' he held up the ring he had retrieved from the table. 'Please do not leave me!'

Christine melted somehow farther into him. She cried, but out of happiness. 'Just stay my Erik. Don't leave me for that drug or any other ever again and I will remain forever yours.' She felt him eagerly nod against her. 'I love you, Erik.'

'And I love you more than words can express, Christine,' he murmured into her. He pulled back briefly to kiss her, then held her close again. He swore to himself he would never let her go. He would never again risk seeing her leave. He would give it all up for her. No one else on Earth meant more to him, not even himself. He would do it all for the love of her.


	7. Chapter 7: A True Face

**A/N: Another one I'm not too certain of. I want to believe the best of Christine's character, but she is only human after all. It is also something of a swapping of roles from chapter 5. I am posting this a little early because yesterday went so wonderfully for me. School is arranging itself well for now and I am excited for this coming term.**

 **Summary: How will Christine react when Erik tells her he wants to look normal? Modern A/U.**

Chapter 7: A True Face

She woke up to him beside her in bed. This was not altogether unusual. They were together and nothing was going to change that. It was more a wonder they were not married yet, though she still felt a pit in her stomach at the thought. Being nearly forced to marry him once before had given her a bit of apprehension towards the ceremony. She loved him dearly, but she was not sure if she wanted that extra leap. She was happy with the way things stood now. He was happy too.

Turning slightly, she noted that his head was buried in the crease between her shoulder blades. His mask-less face pressed into her bare skin that seemed oddly dampened.

'Erik?' she asked, turning her head some in hopes of seeing his emotional state better. His only response was to wrap his arms around her and hold her a little tighter. Rolling her eyes and sighing, she fidgeted until he released her enough to roll over and face him. He only drove his face into her breastbone at this. It was here that she fully realised that the dampness was from his crying. Startled, she tried to seek out his eyes to see what was wrong. But quickly gave up to instead run her fingers through the few tufts of grey hair that spotted his head.

'Why do you love me?' he asked through his tears.

'Oh, Erik, there are so many things I love about you,' she told him, kissing the spot on his right temple where the skin seemed to peel away from his skull. He shivered slightly and she could not help but to smile from giving him the slightest bit of pleasure in his anguish. He hummed at her ministrations and so she continued to spread her kisses along his face. She let her lips graze over the knot of wrinkled flesh were it pinched at the side of his nose, the few hairs that made up his eyebrows, and then finally down to the bloated corners of his lips that stretched up into his cheek. She loved every inch of this man, and she intended for him to know it.

When she stopped, he seemed to relax into her arms some, but his head remained too close for her to see his eyes. She smiled, knowing she would have to fully answer his question to win his gaze.

'I love the way you wake up before me and just lay here holding me. I love the way you cook for me and try to teach me to even though I ruin it every time. I love the fact that you speak about eight different languages and have tried in vain to teach me some. I love how you will switch to my favourite pieces of music if I walk into the living room while you are working. I love how passionate you are about everything, and how you never change your opinions without reason simply because someone may disagree. I love how you kiss me goodnight and hold me when I'm sad and tell me you love me or even call me beautiful even when I'm ugly-crying. I just love you, my darling.'

Finally he looked up at her, his eyes reddened from the tears. He gave her a watery smile before kissing her. 'I love you, Christine,' he said, his breath warm against her cheek.

She returned his kiss. 'Now,' she said sternly when they had broken apart for air. 'Will you tell me what's wrong?'

He seemed to look down guiltily as he realised she expected an answer. 'I want to…' he paused. She prompted him with an eyebrow raise. 'I want to get the surgery. To look…normal.' He said it quickly as if he were anticipating a reprimand for his words.

Christine gazed at him in astonishment for a moment. 'You do?' she asked, realising that she felt a bit saddened by this answer.

He nodded. 'I do. I want to be able to have an ordinary life with you. I want to give you that.'

'Erik, darling, I love you just as you are. But,' she paused, feeling her own tears well up, 'if this is what you want, then I have no right to tell you otherwise. It's your choice.'

Before he could say anything in reply, she held him closer, kissing his poor, mangled face. She loved him, she knew, but this would be hard to live without. She had become so used to it simply being him that she could not imagine him with any other face. She tried to picture him looking as the other half of his face did. Being a whole man as nature should have made him, but it did not look like her Erik anymore. She held in a sob at this. She loved him for who he was, but she did not think she could stand seeing him look like someone she did not recognise.

Erik took her kisses to be happiness. He had wanted to make her happy ever since he had first laid eyes on her and now he was finally fulfilling that sincere wish.

* * *

Erik had been smiling all week. He had called the doctors that same day and had arranged an appointment for a consultation for the end of the week. Though he was not excited about being looked at and poked and prodded by strange doctors, he knew it was for the better.

Christine had put on a brave face through all of this, but knew that if he was truly this happy, she could not do anything to dissuade him. Nor should she. It was wrong to selfishly try to change his mind about something so important to him. Besides, she knew plastic surgery had progressed greatly in the last few years. If it was what he wanted, then the right thing for her to do was support him through it. He was probably scared about it and it was her job to comfort him. Still, there was only so much she could do before it all broke.

One night—the night before the consultation—she had to hide herself in the bathroom as she sobbed and sobbed. She knew that there was the slightest chance that the doctor would tell him they could not go through with the surgery at all, but that did not comfort her. She had watched him all through dinner, trying to memorise every wonderful imperfection in his face. Wanting to savour the sight as long as it lasted. This thought made her feel even worse, however, knowing how much this all meant to Erik. She was being selfish and cruel.

She sat on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest as she sobbed. She pictured his face in her mind and tried her absolute hardest to put the other side to match and to still see her Erik through it all, but she could not do it. She knew she was being awful. Her Erik would not change. He would continue to love her and kiss her and hold her and comfort her just as he always had. She may have to defend him from a few other women and to explain that he should not let it get to him. She would have to stake her claim more because the stares might not be from disgust but desire if all went well. None of this did anything to comfort her and slowly she slipped into hysterics, imagining a perfectly handsome Erik leaving her for someone better.

Erik had noted her prolonged absence and started to worry. She had seemed distant lately, and he wondered if it had anything to do with his proposal of surgery. He was beginning to worry that perhaps she was not as happy as he had originally thought.

'Christine?' he called to the door of the bathroom. He heard nothing but muffled, gasping breaths. He knew the sound of her crying anywhere. He tried the knob and thankfully found the door unlocked. He tentatively stuck his head in before flying instantly to her side. He put his hand on either side of her face, lifting it to check for injury.

'Christine! What's wrong? Are you hurt? Please tell me. Why are you crying?!' he asked hurriedly, checking her arms and hovering his hands over her in worry. He found no external injuries and his heart leapt to his throat for fear that something worse had happened.

'I'm sorry!' she wept.

'Sorry for what?'

'For being so selfish!'

Erik stared at her a moment, trying to deduce what could have caused her such an issue. 'Christine, darling, what's wrong?' he repeated, hoping to make his voice sound more even.

'I don't want you to get the surgery!' she finally and tearfully admitted. 'I don't want you to change, but I know it's not my choice and I'm hurting you by doing this and you must hate me! But I can't stop crying! I'm sorry!'

He kept his face blank as he let her crash into his chest, burrowing into his arms. He was thinking of a million things as once, but Christine's shuddering sobs broke through it all.

'I'm crying because I'm not getting what I want! I'm such a brat!' Erik could not help the subtle smile at this.

'No, darling, you are not a brat. You are a beautiful and loving woman who I should pay more attention to. I never should have let you get to this state. I'm sorry, my love.'

She sobbed in response as he lifted her into his arms and carefully stood with her clinging to his neck. He took them into the bedroom and arranged them to lean against the headboard, her laying on his chest by his right shoulder. He rocked her and kissed her and soothed her until she finally stopped crying.

'I love you,' she told him firmly, finding his eyes so that he could fully understand her sincerity in this. 'I love you for far more than just your face, and I know appearances shouldn't matter at all, but I love your face. I had to learn to see the man beneath it and I don't know what I would do without that reminder of how far we have come together. It's a part of you, Erik. I love it because it's part of who you are.'

He smiled softly, nodding his understanding.

'I don't want you to make your choice because I cried, Erik. If this is what you want, then I will support and love you. I will find a way to deal with it because I will always love you.' She nuzzled her face into his neck. She held him tighter and his arms did the same.

'I won't go through with it,' he announced, staring straight ahead.

She looked up at him in surprise. 'Erik, please, I only want you to be happy.'

'I know. I wanted this because I thought our lives would be better if I looked more normal. But now I see that so long as you are beside me, I don't need anything else. I will keep it in mind in case there ever comes a time when it is more important to our happiness, but right now, I just want you to love me as you do.'

'I will always love you, Erik. I'm sorry I caused such a problem for you over this. I did not think it would bother me as much as it did.'

'I understand. To be honest, I am not sure how _I_ would deal with it. To look like everyone else has been something of an unattainable dream for so much of my life, to have it come true would be hard. Having you with me like this is far more important to me, though.' He leaned in, kissing the crown of her head. 'I love you, Christine.'

'I love you, Erik. I love you for all that you are. You don't need to ever change to gain my love.'


	8. Chapter 8: Cold

**A/N: Happy birthday to me! I am 21 and have no idea how that makes any difference, but I feel like it should like it always seemed to when you dream about it as a kid. I don't drink (hate the taste of alcohol), so it's not that big of a deal for me. Ah, well. Hope you all are having a pleasant Tuesday. Here is my spokesperson chapter for completely shameless fluff.**

 **Summary: Erik has to help Christine keep warm in their first winter together. (Rated T. Get your minds out of the gutter! ;) )**

Chapter 8: Cold

I have always had cold skin. Ever since I can remember, I have had the skin to match my death's visage and form. In my younger days, I used to fancy lizards because at least we had something in common besides being looked down upon by humans and treated with disgust by women. Nowadays, however, I have my darling Christine to keep me warmer. In the summertime, she nearly forces me from my clothes at night so that she may press herself to my cooler flesh. And what gentleman, let alone husband, would not allow the woman he loves to feel some relief from the heat? No, I am far beyond being so cruel as to keep her from her simple joys, tastefully ignoring how immensely happy they also make me.

I do get warm after a little while, but not as much as she does. I think of it as a natural advantage to please my love. That is, until she becomes cold. The first winter we spent together as a married couple shall remain forever in my mind as one of the hardest in my life.

We had married in autumn, being her favourite season, and promptly moved into our new house. How were we supposed to know that the heating would need work? It had been pleasant until the winter suddenly and harshly decided to intrude into our home. I lit the fireplaces, but did not have the forethought to ensure the one in our bedroom worked. It filled with smoke when the damper remained stuck closed. Thankfully I did this early enough in the day so as to avoid a smoky house that evening, but by opening the windows in the room, I let in too much cold air. I knew she would be cold, so I heated some pots of water and her rubber water bottle for her before bed. As night drew on, she nearly absconded with every blanket in the house whilst I lay impervious to the cold, I looked over to see her shivering and hugging her arms about her chest in vain search of warmth.

Rolling over to face me, her brows were pinched together in their adorable and pitiful expression. I held my arms open for her, but as soon as her head hit my chest, she let out a moan and retreated. I tried not to look as hurt as I felt.

'Erik, you're so cold,' she complained. 'I'm sorry, my love. It is only that I am freezing already,' she explained, leaning in to kiss me distantly.

I watched her turn back over. I placed a pillow between us and tried to hold her from behind, my body conforming to the lump of pillows and blankets she had comically become. I reached up to kiss her neck behind her ear as I knew she liked, but she shivered and curled in tighter to her plush ball. I watched helplessly as my wife lay apart from me, battling against the cold. We would likely not have the chimney fixed for another few weeks, being the common season for issues.

I lay, trying not to let the unintentional rejection of my wife hurt me until I heard her sniffling beside me.

'Dearest?' I asked, propping myself up on my elbow to hopefully see her face.

'I'm sorry,' she whimpered. 'I want you to hold me, but I'm just so cold.' She was weeping now, a practice I could barely stand to watch for the pain it caused in my heart.

'Christine, my love, it's all right. I know you are cold. Do not worry, we will have the chimney fixed and then I shall hold you close each and every night before the warm fire.' I tried to be reassuring, but I knew the promises of tomorrow did little to help the problems of today.

'But I want to hold you now,' she bemoaned tiredly.

I looked at her quivering back. She never acted like this unless it was desperate. She truly needed me, God help her. Again, I am a good husband, or at least I try to be, and I am not one to deny Christine a wish, especially when it pertains so closely to her comfort.

Getting out of bed, I silently went to the bathroom. I heard her ask after me partway there, but I was too focused on my task. I turned on the hot water and went about preparing the library's fireplace. When the water was drawn, I went to the bed and gently lifted Christine from it. I brought her into the bathroom where I had us both strip down. She shivered frightfully until I placed her gently into the hot water with me. Instantly, she cuddled into my arms, whimpering slightly as she curled up like an infant. We lay there, though the water was warmer than I generally preferred it. Having cold skin makes me more susceptible to heat. I let it prickle my skin as I lay, peacefully holding my darling wife in my arms. I could feel the water's warmth slowly leeching into me and I waited a few moments longer before it grew too cold. Picking her up with me, I dried us and we got dressed. She looked disappointed, but that did not stop her smile as she brushed my dripping hair from my face. Once more, I wordlessly scooped her into my arms as she wrapped herself in the blankets. She eagerly pressed herself to my skin, kissing my neck as I carried her. She muttered many beautiful things into me, smiling the whole while. I will never be used to her proclamations of love. They take my breath away every time.

I sighed a few times at the bliss her touch never fails to give me as I carried her into the library down the hall. I laid her on the large couch before checking the fireplace. Thankfully this one worked well. I made sure it would keep going and quickly returned to her fabric bundled form. She looked like a mouse hiding in the washing as she looked up at me with those big brown eyes I could not dare resist. Curling in behind her, I let her lay across me, quickly sapping what heat I had claimed in the bath. She hummed into my neck, nuzzling me happily. I could feel her lips smiling against me and I kissed her head. I nestled into her hair and we both soon fell asleep in the comfort of each other's arms.

We did this nearly every night for a month before the chimney was repaired. Although every cold night I feel the pang of worry for her comfort, she is happy. Each winter, the first day of the season, we spend a night in the library, curled up on the couch in warm happiness and remembrance of our first year in the house.


	9. Chapter 9: A Good Husband

**A/N: I am so sorry for the delay on this one. I have no real excuse whatsoever. Enjoy this chapter because if I'm good at anything, it's writing a crying Erik.**

 **Summary: Trepidations on their wedding night turn into sharing worries and falling even farther in love.**

Chapter 9: A Good Husband

Christine had just changed into her nightgown and re-emerged from the bathroom when Erik turned around, still buttoning the last button of his pyjama shirt. They were black silk and Christine felt the nervousness that had started quivering in her stomach come back to its uncomfortable crescendo.

Erik looked at her sheepishly before gazing at the bed as though just noticing its presence in the room. He dared a glance back to her, still with her hair done up from the ceremony hours before. It was ridiculous for either of them to feel anything akin to worry. They loved each other. They had entered into their marriage with excitement and the healthy amount of trepidation. Perhaps it was natural to feel discomfort on their wedding night, but the shine in Erik's eyes spoke of more.

'Christine,' he said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. 'Would you like me to help you with your hair?' he asked, bypassing the greater issue at play.

She held in her gape, clearly having expected a different question to have been asked. She nodded, making her way over to her vanity and sitting up straight to allow his superior height easier access to her constrained curls. He paused a moment, his fingers hovering over her head.

He worked in silence, neither of them feeling the need to speak beyond the occasional apology from him for pulling unintentionally at a curl and her responding reassurances that it was fine. He watched with barely contained gasps of admiration as her hair cascaded down her back at last. The curls rippled gleamingly over her pure white dressing gown. He looked at her a moment in the mirror, loving the sight of her before him. He could not see his half-masked face, so the picture was that much better, he thought.

Cautiously, she turned to him, shattering the moment of the reflection, but simply making a new one as she gazed up into his amber, loving eyes.

He did not want for this peace to end. He wanted it to go on forever. He knew this could not be, though. 'Christine,' he started again, his tone full of uncertainty. 'Would you-would you simply lie in bed with me? All I want is to speak to you,' he told her. She nodded, making his chest feel just a little bit lighter.

He walked over to the bed after she had picked her side. Thankfully this way, to face her, he would not have to lie on the deformed half of his face. Unfortunately, despite his new comfort in not having to worry about suffocating in his pillow, she would now be faced with the hideous side of her new husband.

Out of habit, he turned off the light and removed his mask before settling under the covers. There was still a bit of light to the room from the fireplace, so he saw the wide-eyed looks she was giving him.

'Oh, Christine, forgive me! I did not think,' he blustered quickly rolling over to replace his mask. Her tiny hand on his shoulder, urging him back, stopped him. He froze beneath her touch.

'I married you, Erik. I think it best I see the face of my husband.'

He turned back to see her smiling at him, though he knew not how she could manage such a feat. Still, he nodded and rolled to face her completely. She was lying a bit away from him, looking up at the ceiling distantly as was her wont when caught in memory. He resolved to wait patiently for her to come back and tell him what piece of her life had come back to her.

'When I was little, I used to hide under the covers in bed. I would have Papa tell me stories or would simply imagine up worlds. It was an escape. I had my own little world there.' She looked at him at the end of this to see him smiling softly as he always did when she told him of her childhood. His eyes were alight with an idea and, motioning for her to scoot down some, he slid a bit to lift the sheet up and over their heads. She giggled a bit at the childishness of it all.

'Who would have thought that on the night of my wedding, I would be laying beneath the covers with my husband simply to talk? We are like children, aren't we?'

Erik smiled, reaching over to brush a bit of her hair from her face. His fingers lingered to caress her cheek, relishing the smoothness and the warmth of her skin. Her smile changed slightly, her eyes growing a bit darker in their sparkle.

'I love you,' he said somewhat dreamily. 'I love you so much. You are everything to me, do you know that? You are my moon, my stars, my sky; everything. When I look at you, I see the whole world. When you speak, I hear Heaven's music. When I touch you,' here he paused to run his fingers across her cheek once more. 'I know my life begins and ends with you.'

Christine sniffled back a tear. She sometimes hated it when he did this because she never felt she had an answer as good as his words. Leaning forward, she kissed him, knowing that would mean just as much to him as any poetic sentiment she could come up with.

'My wife,' he whispered through brimming tears of his own. 'Oh, to know what I have ever done to deserve an angel like you by my side. I do not deserve you, Christine. And yet, you have chosen me above all others. You must know that I will never let you go now. You are mine. I would die before I shared you with anyone else.'

'I know, my love. I don't want anyone else. I love _you_. Now and forever, my darling husband.'

At this, his face, his poor, deformed face, began to scrunch up into sobs. She thought he cried at the sentiment, but as it continued, his hands faintly seeking hers, she wondered if it was something else. She felt sorry for him, running his fingers over her wedding ring, softly muttering, 'I'm sorry, my wife.'

'Darling,' she beckoned, growing concerned. 'What's the matter?'

He looked up at her, apologies swimming in his luminous eyes. 'Oh, Christine, you must forgive your Erik. He is selfish and cruel. He is wrong and he is sorry. He loves you so very much,' he wept, his words concerning in their incoherency.

'Erik, why are you sorry? Please tell me, love.'

'Erik does not deserve such a wife. He is bad because he wants more from her than he should. He wants so much but must never ask it of her. He is happy with her touches and her kisses and her smiles so generously given. He is far from deserving of her hands in his, or his ring upon her finger. He does not deserve a wife, yet his Christine has given him one. Oh, she is too good to him. He is selfish.'

'How are you selfish, Erik?' she asked, trying not to take him and shake him back to sanity.

'Because, he wanted for so long to call Christine his wife, but he did not think. He did not know how to be a good husband for her. He did not ever think to learn how. He is selfish, only ever wanting a wife and not thinking of how to make her happy; to be a good husband.'

'Oh, Erik,' she cooed, reaching out to pull his trembling shoulders to her so that he could nestle his head beneath her chin. She smoothed her fingers through his rough, grey hair, sparse as it was across his head. She gently kissed the spot just above where his skull shone through the thin skin. 'Erik, darling, you are not selfish,' she assured him. 'No, you are not,' she insisted when he shook his head. 'I do not know how to be a good wife to you, I never learned either. We will have to figure this out together. But if you stay my Erik, then I shall love you just the same. Nothing will have to change. I don't want it to change.'

He glanced up at her at this. She saw the light of hope she had placed there. 'Erik will learn. _I_ will learn to be a good husband for you. I will work hard to make you happy, Christine. I promise.'

'I know you will, my husband. And I shall do the same for you. Because I love you, Erik. I love you with all my heart,' she told him, looking down at his shimmering eyes. Leaning down, she kissed him, letting his imperfect lips slowly calm to join hers. She smiled against his mouth as his hands came up to pull her closer to him.

As they carried on into the wedding night she had been expecting, albeit with more assurances that she wanted him to, she lost all fear and all worry over being with her husband. She loved him completely.


	10. Chapter 10: Love's Embrace

**A/N: Ah, my first Leroux Erik! Help! This one is not completely a full ship. It could be shot down if faced with a fight, but as I am sure you are all aware, I like to imagine the best for these two.**

 **Summary: Erik asks for one favour and gets more than he ever could have hoped.**

Chapter 10: Love's Embrace

Christine was sitting in the drawing room, happily absorbed in her book of poetry, when Erik interrupted her. It was not one of his usual tactics for gaining her attention, though. This one was different by all counts. She watched him warily over the edge of her book as he walked on his knees across the floor to her legs. She was sitting properly tonight, unlike most times when her legs were tucked up beneath her. He continued over to her, eyes downcast, as he moved as silently as ever. She was about to ask him why he was behaving thusly when he leaned forward and placed his head into her lap and started to cry softly.

Now, this was not all together unusual. Christine had often noted that her visits to his home beneath the opera generally consisted of her watching him cry over just about anything. A single sigh from her, regardless of the inflection or cause, would make him either burst into tears, or cause tragic poetry to flow from his mouth. She was left simply to sit by and watch this as most attempts at calming him would lead to more of both symptoms, regardless of which one he started with. She had determined that it was better for all involved if she just sat and waited it out and prayed for one of his illusive explanations.

She waited for a bit longer before finally he murmured something into her skirts. Rolling her eyes at his dramatics, she leaned forward some.

'What was that, Erik?' she asked patiently and sweetly.

He lifted his head some, his unmasked skin glistening and thoroughly soaked with tears. 'Erik does not deserve you. He has no right to ask it of you.'

Sighing heavily, she tried to sift through his ever cryptic words to find his meaning. 'Ask what of me, Erik?'

He looked down ashamedly, his fingers rubbing her dress idly, yet reverently. 'Will…' he paused, making Christine worry some. 'Will you hold m-me?' he asked, his voice sounding more like a child's.

Christine sat in surprise as he said this. He looked so unsure and so very helpless. She made the mistake, however, of not replying quickly enough, for he rapidly dissolved into more tears, edging away from her.

'Erik is sorry! He never should have asked! It was wrong; forgive him! He loves Christine. Forgive him! Please forgive—'

He did not finish his last lament as she hurriedly slid from the couch to wrap her arms around him. It was awkward as he tensed instantly, but as soon as he realised he was getting his wish, he broke down into sobs again. His arms gingerly rose to hold her back, starting to enjoy the embrace. She simply held him, letting him drain his emotional ocean some. After a little while of this, she shifted slightly, issuing and involuntary groan as she did so. It was not comfortable to hold a grown man in her arms as she knelt on the stone floor.

'Oh! Christine, forgive me! I did not mean to hurt you!' he gushed, pulling back from her. She shook her head at him quickly, trying to dispel his worry, knowing he was taking this the wrong way.

'I'm fine, Erik, really. The floor is not very forgiving to my knees, that's all. Why don't we move elsewhere?' She took his arms and started to pull him to his feet. She led him to the couch and sat down with open arms. He let out another sobbing cry before falling into them. She rubbed his back and ran her fingers through his thin strands of hair calmingly. He continued to sob for another half-hour before slowly relaxing enough to breathe regularly.

'Thank you. I did not deserve that. Christine is too kind to her Erik,' he said as he took a hunched seat beside her, rubbing her fingers.

'Erik, all you have to do is ask. I don't mind.' She smiled at him, trying to assure him it was nothing to worry over. 'And besides, some time I might need you to return the favour.' She snuck a glance up at him to see his eyes wide and welling up with joy again.

He looked back at her disbelievingly until she moved his arm and snuggled against him, smiling softly. He gasped a few sobs, clearly trying not to cry again.

She did not stay long, but when she did sit up, she made his somewhat disappointed expression disappear when she kissed him on the cheek. He flustered and his hands splayed on his legs before gripping his trousers tightly. She pulled back and calmly returned to her book, listening to him try to calm his breath and stop his newly flowing tears. She gave him the dignity of silence as he tried to come to terms with all she had given him this night.


	11. Chapter 11: Weight

**A/N: My next (and with any luck) last one-shot of doubt. Meaning that I am not sure how I feel about this one. I wanted to experiment and see how it went. I realise that Erik is generally the one to be insecure, but I think we all saw that one coming. Let me know what you think!**

 **Summary: Erik notices some changes to his body since his dating Christine. (And overreacts as always *eyeroll*) Modern A/U.**

Chapter 11: Weight

He had noticed that his trousers had been a bit ill-fitting as of late, but clothes were notorious for not suiting his frame well. His lean and tall build was not what clothes designers thought of, apparently. So he chose not to think on it too heavily. That is, until one of his pairs of dress trousers—being the only ones he knew to fit him perfectly—refused to close.

His heart leapt to his throat instantly. Never in his adult life had this happened. His clothes often times just hung off him like he was a tree limb. Now his button would not close. This made his pulse race in panic.

Fear made him stop. He did not have many mirrors in the house, a rule his darling Christine had gratefully allowed. Despite her insistence that he was fine in her eyes, he knew the horror behind the half-mask, and was not eager to be reminded of it every trip to the bathroom. He had, however, gifted her with a full-length mirror in her armoire. Walking over to it, he cringed at the reflection. It was not his exposed face that made him hate himself, this time. His unbuttoned shirt showed something he never thought he would see in all his life.

Where once his ribs had shown through his chest almost painfully, they now hid like ghosts of themselves. His shoulders were not as pronounced in their sinewy ball-and-socket roundness. Even his neck did not look quite as spindly as before. But it was his ribcage, once overhanging the concave hollow of his stomach, which caught his horror-filled attention. It now no longer indented but slightly bulging just past flatness. He felt his now slightly less bony behind hit the floor as he pulled his knees to his chest. His breathing was quick and frenzied. His mind raced and his eyes filled instantly with tears.

'Erik?'

For the first time in his life, that voice so soft and gentle sent a pang of dread running through him. What would she think of him? Her once angel, already hideous beyond measure was worse than before. She would leave him. He just knew it. His life was over. He had failed.

'Erik, dear, are you ready for our date?' she asked, coming into the room, unknowing of his state of panic. He had promised her a fancy dinner tonight. He would fail her. He always failed her somehow.

'Erik!' He wrapped in farther on himself as he heard her voice realising his spot on the floor. He felt her hands at his shoulders, trying to coax him out of his tear-wetted shell. 'Erik, what's wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?' He felt her tugging at him, wanting him to unfurl so she could check for damage. Little did she know that the damage was already done. She should be running away. She should not be here with him at all.

He realised too late that he spoke those thoughts aloud. He felt her pause before he was suddenly enveloped by her warm and comforting arms. Kisses dotted his exposed head, mingling in the few wisps of his greyed hair that patched his scalp. She smoothed them with a gentle hand. Her breath at his ear, whispering words of love and devotion to him.

'Erik, I love you.' A sob escaped him at this. Her arms pulled at his until he tipped over to lay his head on her breastbone. He could hear her heartbeat and wept more. 'Sweetie, just tell me what's wrong,' she urged.

'I'm hideous.' He heard her sigh, knowing this was likely the thousandth time she had heard this proclamation from him this week alone.

'Dearest, I love you. You are not hideous. I love your face. It's _your_ face.' This was her go-to speech. He had heard it several times before, though he knew it meant no less each time.

He shook his head against her. She misunderstood his attempt to rescue her from his horrid form. 'Yes, I do,' she insisted. 'I love you very much, dear. Do you not love me enough to believe me?'

With a cry, he had wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him like a lifeline as he muttered watery assurances of his love into her collarbone.

She smiled. This was what she had wanted. 'Aw, there he is. There's my Erik.' She nuzzled into him placing a delicate kiss on the crown of his head. She soothed him as he wept. She hated this tactic for getting him to open up, but it was truly the only way to get an explanation out of him. Sure enough, his head finally poked up, his eyes red from crying, and a justification for his behaviour resting on his lips to apologise with. He would never divulge his thoughts of self-hatred otherwise.

'I'm sorry,' he muttered, a tear hanging on his lashes.

'For what, my love?' she prompted, patient as always.

His lips, bloated and pulled at the right corner, quivered before he extracted himself dejectedly from her embrace. He stood and looked askance as he opened his shirt to her. It took her a confused moment to see what he was trying to show her until she saw his stomach. Her eyebrows shot up before her whole face fell into a pout.

'How is it that you make having a tummy so cute?' she asked, gesturing to him. His look of pure shock was priceless to her and remained frozen on his face even as she stood and gently placed her hands on his now soft abdomen. 'I mean, it's just not fair. On me it would not look as cute, but on you it's absolutely adorable. Just look at that cute little tummy!' At this she proceeded to pat it some. When she looked up, however, she saw even more tears forming in his eyes. She braced herself as she knew his next move. True to form, he collapsed into her arms, but she managed to cleverly manoeuvre them over to the bed so he could lie more on top of her as she held him.

'Dearest, you really are overreacting about this whole thing.' She tried to sooth him, but he did not seem to want it.

'Now I'm hideous in face and form.'

Christine could not help but to roll her eyes at this. 'Oh, please. Erik, you look fine! It's natural for couples to gain weight. We try to be thin to impress people, but once we have someone, it doesn't matter as much. It's an insecurity thing. I'm actually impressed that you _can_ gain weight. I assumed you would be emaciated forever. I guess my making you eat more has paid off.' She kissed his forehead, generally an act that made him search for her lips, but he seemed bound and determined to cry. 'In case you haven't noticed, I've put on a couple pounds, myself,' she said, feeling the fact weigh on her a bit.

No sooner had the words left her mouth, than his arms were around her so tightly she worried for her breathing. He held her head as though she had been the one self-destructing.

'You are beautiful, darling. You are perfect just the way you are. Nothing will ever change that. I will always love you, no matter what shape, size, or colour you are. I love you, Christine.' He said this over and over again with such force she wondered if he thought she would somehow disappear in his grasp. She managed to pull back just enough to kiss his cheek before succumbing to his embrace and slight rocking as he gently cried into her.

'I don't want to be this way,' he finally wept, his voice only just starting to calm from the tears and still slightly catching in a hiccup.

Christine leaned out of his arms more fully to hold his face and look directly into his wonderful, golden eyes. She thumbed away a tear gently, making him close his eyes to the bliss of her touch. He leaned into her palm, his own hands coming to hold her wrists.

'Dear, I think you are beautiful no matter what,' she told him in her angelically soothing voice. 'Your smile in the mornings when I wake up, the way you make me breakfast and stand in the sunlight in the kitchen, the way you sit in your chair at night to read in front of the fireplace, all of it is beautiful to me. I love you. We can do this together.' Her eyes lit up with a sudden idea. 'We could ask Madame Giry to give us dance lessons. That way we can learn together.'

'But you already know how to dance,' he objected weakly, truly liking the idea.

'Only ballet, and I never was trusted enough to work with a partner. We could learn the waltz or tango, oh! That one would be fun for us!'

He could not help the smile that came to his lips at her enthusiastic expression. 'I'm not sure I will be any good, but we can try it if you wish.'

'Well, I wasn't very good at ballet, so we shall see. You will probably excel at it. You are good at just about anything, so I will likely be behind in learning. You may have to help me, but I still want to try.'

His gentle smile grew as he thought of dancing across a ballroom floor, just his Christine and him. He leaned in to kiss her lips softly. 'I love you,' he murmured, placing his forehead on hers.

'I love you, too.' She kissed him back, quickly deepening it as he moaned happily into her mouth.


	12. Chapter 12: Weathering the Storm

**A/N: I would like to take a moment to thank everyone who has reviewed who I have not been able to personally thank in PMs, and also everyone who has favourited/followed this story. These are pieces from my dry-spell in writing this past year and it means a lot to see all of the support these little stores get. Hopefully, I have crawled out of my rut and will have a new phic to share soon. No promises, though, haha. I hope you all enjoy this one as I find it to be my favourite so far!**

 **Summary: Erik comes in to check on Christine one dark and stormy night. The evening plays out a bit differently than either expected.**

Chapter 12: Weathering the Storm

I knew I fell asleep as soon as the rain started. Erik had said at dinner he could feel a storm coming. I was secretly looking forward to it. There is nothing I love more than staying up to watch the lightning flare before my window and to hear the thunder rattle through the house. But as soon as the rain hit the roof over my bedroom, I knew it would be enough to send me off into a peaceful sleep. It was therefore a surprise when I awoke sometime in the night to the sound of my bedroom door opening.

Blinking away sleep, I looked up to see the unmistakeable flash of white from Erik's mask. It was odd to have heard him enter as I knew he could open any door in the house without making a sound. He was not as careful this night. He wanted to wake me, at least a little, and worry coursed through me at this realisation.

'Erik, what's wrong?' I asked, knowing my sleepy voice slurred a few of the words.

He seemed to start at my words, fidgeting nervously as I had never seen him do before. 'N-nothing,' he stuttered—yet another habit he was not known for. 'I simply wanted to check on you. I thought the storm might be bothering you.' He looked askance. I had never seen him look so incredibly uncomfortable, but thought perhaps it was because he was in my room uninvited.

'I am fine,' I answered blearily. He nodded, still looking around vaguely as if searching for another reason to be in my room. Thankfully for him, a reason provided itself…in a sense.

Lightning streaked across the ink-black sky, followed quite closely by a great crash of thunder. He was at my side before I could blink, clutching my arms with wild, wide eyes.

'It is all right, Christine,' he assured me, though I was not at all worried by the storm. His tone shook a bit as he said it, making me concerned more for him than my own attitude towards the storm.

'I am fine, Erik really. Storms do not bother me.'

'Oh,' he said in a small voice. He let go of my arms a bit, instead ghosting his fingers over my skin. His hands were cold, raising gooseflesh on my arm. He noticed and his shoulders rose, his emotions about to take over as I had seen far too many times before. 'I'm sorry!' he said, hurriedly, stepping back. 'I should not have touched you! Not without permission. I am sorry.' I watched as he performed his awful habit of retreating into himself and curling up.

'It's all right, Erik,' I tried to sooth, noting how he shied away from the window as another lightning bolt lit up the room. The thunder was far quieter on this one. It was because of this that I finally heard a noise I had missed before. Erik gave a slight whimper.

'Erik,' I said slowly, raising up on my elbow in bed, 'are you afraid of the storm?'

His eyes instantly turned tearfully in my direction. He seemed to shrink further, returning to his hedgehog behaviour. He looked away, perhaps sensing his eyes had given him away. 'I'm sorry,' he muttered.

Before I could give him a reply, another big crack of thunder shook the house. Erik could not help himself, leaning over to take my hand in an oddly protective form of comfort. It seemed he coped better thinking that I was the one who needed the safety. His grip, however kindly meant, was somewhat painful in its desperate intensity, though. I hated to do it, but I knew if I did not make him let go, he would be even more distressed by the bruises he would leave.

'Ow,' I said as softly as I could.

Naturally, he let go as if having touched a red-hot stove. 'I'm sorry!' he all but wept. His eyes were starting to glisten, making me regret my only known tactic for making him let go. Nothing else ever seemed to work, however.

Once more, I opened my mouth to reassure him, and the weather stole my words. He whimpered, looking like a lost child as he reached for me but did not dare touch me. Sighing heavily, I realised I would have to comfort him. He was strong and controlling in so many aspects of his life (and mine), having completely lost control to nature in regards to his face. That was why he was so demanding and exacting. That was why he always made sure to be impeccably dressed, hair slicked to perfection, and manners polished to a gleam. Yet there were times when his weakness showed through. Moments like this where he stood beside my bed at some likely obscene hour of the night in his black silk nightclothes, nearly crying from fear of the weather, yet all the while not bold enough to outright ask for help or comfort. It was times like this when I was granted a bit of control, a bit of strength without having to fight him for it. It was times like this that I felt I truly saw him. Through all of his false bravado and poise lay a broken man, more child than adult, quivering in fear from the most mundane things. He was an enigma and a helpless being in desperate need of some scrap of affection from the cruel and cold world that had created him.

His eyes had gone back to the window, each passing moment of the storm making him breathe harder as his anxiety grew. Taking his arm, I drew his attention instantly back to me. He looked at me as though I was a gift from God. Not an uncommon expression, to be certain, but one I secretly hated and adored at the same time.

'Erik, would you rather sleep in here for tonight?' I asked, remembering well how my father would put me in bed with him (on those rare nights when our poverty did not force us to share a bed or sleep on the ground) when I got scared.

He seemed to realise the slight impropriety of what I was asking, but I knew he was also battling his desire for some form of comfort and security. At last, he nodded. I leaned back in bed as he made his way around to the other side. I rolled over to face him, but was instead watching him crawl onto the floor. I scooted to the edge of the bed and saw him lay down on the cold, hard floor. He stared up at the ceiling blankly before noticing me.

'Erik, why are you on the floor?' I asked, trying to keep my voice patient in its confusion.

'I-I thought you wanted me to,' he said, his eyes holding worry and apology at my—to his eye—contradictory behaviour.

'No. Why would I want you to sleep on the floor?'

His eyes were saddened then. 'Where would you have me sleep?'

I sighed in exasperation. 'On the bed, of course!'

I had never seen his eyes grow as wide as they did in that moment.

'You-You want me up there? With…you?' He looked so vulnerable I could hardly stand it.

'Well, yes,' I answered, watching as he slowly rose. He stared at me the whole time, as though waiting for me to deny him. It broke my heart to know that everything he did was out of some habit, beaten into him—likely quite literally in most cases—throughout his life. I was careful in my return to my own spot so he would not be startled. We were like two animals, trying not to spook the other. He placed one hand on the bed and froze.

'What do you want me to do?' he asked, his eyes showing his brow was furrowed, despite how it hid behind the mask.

'I want you to go where you want,' I shrugged. I trusted him to keep my honour and also to not have it in him to do anything untoward to me. He had recoiled from touching my arm, after all.

His surprise was beautiful as it was tragic. He kept his eye-contact with me as he put one knee on the bed and then the other. It was almost comical how slowly he moved. Then, he curled up in a ball at my feet. I stared at him as he lay there, looking like a dog barely good enough to sleep on the bed. He seemed to smile at the sight of my feet bundled in the blanket. Slowly and tenderly, he reached out to touch the blanket. I barely felt him brush the tips of my covered toes. It made me feel like a cruel and awful mistress to see him acting so. What sent me over the edge, however, was when he whispered, 'So beautiful,' and proceeded to kiss the blanket.

'Erik!' I cried, shooting up in bed, denying him my feet.

'I'm sorry! Erik mustn't touch! He mustn't be too close. He will taint her! He is sorry! He will move away. He was too close! He is sorry!' he wept, scooting away from me and curling into a tighter ball at the end of my bed.

'Erik, stop it!' I leaned forward, placing my hand on his shoulder. I was certain he flinched at my touch, though his sobs already shook his thin frame. He apologised a few more times as I came forward to touch him gently in the hopes of calming him. He wept for a while until the lightning outside picked up again. His tears intensified at this, making me feel even worse about scaring him. I had never seen him so delicate before.

'Erik is scared!' he whined against the thunder.

'Shhh, it's all right. I'm here. You don't need to be afraid. Please don't cry, Erik.' I would be lying if I said he was the only one crying at that moment, or even in remembering it again later.

He finally calmed enough to look up at me. I tried to smile as I knew he needed me to be strong for him. He sniffled, a baffling act given his lacking nose. He muttered another apology shortly thereafter.

'Erik, come here,' I beckoned, holding my arms open to him. He gazed at me uncertainly, sitting up. I pulled back the covers beside me and gestured for him to come. At this moment, he seemed too tired and scared to deny me. Crawling on hands and knees like a child, he laid down beside me. I did not give him time to recoil before I had pulled him into my embrace. His head naturally fell to my collarbone, nestling in at my neck under my chin. His breathing did not slow as he laid there, but his tears did stop. He smiled against my skin, but seemed a bit uncomfortable in his stiff posture. I realised that was still wearing his mask.

'Erik,' I started carefully, knowing that pursuing this topic was against my better judgement, 'would you like to take your mask off?'

True to form, his gasping sobs started up again.

'I will still hold you,' I assured gently. He cried a bit harder at this, but still sat up some. He looked at me for what felt like forever, making sure I was not lying and his ears were not deceiving him. I nodded my further encouragement and looked away politely as he took off his mask. He did not like me to see him even adjust it slightly, asking me to turn aside or doing so himself.

I looked back when he shifted to put the mask on the bedside table. The interesting thing about his face, though conventionally seen as a horror, is that the more I look at it, the better it gets. I suppose a part of this is due to the fact that the longer I am around him, the more I see of the real person behind the mask.

Looking at him in the dark with only the lightning outside to illuminate him, and as tear stained as it was, he did not come close to frightening me. All I saw was the sad little boy who needed a hug and to be able to sleep peacefully.

A hug was what I gave him as he settled back into me. He nuzzled his face into me again, quite content in his situation.

'When Erik was young, he ran away from home,' he said. I knew by his speech that this would not be a happy tale. He rarely told me anything of his past, and all of it seemed fairly awful, so having him open up was surprising to me, though the sadness of his tale was not. I held him tighter as he continued, 'He was without shelter for several days. He had little to eat and few places to find clean water to drink. One night, he was out and it started to rain. Erik was so happy for the water. But then it turned into a storm. He was frightened and tried to hide under trees. As he was running towards one, the lightning hit it and it exploded. Erik was so scared. He has been scared of storms ever since.'

I felt him hold onto me tighter, trying to hide from the painful memories. I hushed him and soothed his back and ebony hair. He calmed even more. I felt him slowly drift off to sleep, half-lying on my chest. I watched him for some time, noting how peaceful he was. He eventually stopped flinching at the thunder; he stopped noticing the lightning flashes. He breathed more deeply, his ear pressed to my heartbeat. Its steady rhythm comforting him.

In his sleep, he muttered, 'I love you.'

He will never know that I had smiled at this. He will not remember the way I leaned into him, or the way I kissed his head. He did not hear me whisper softly back, 'I love you.' He will only ever remember falling asleep in my arms. He will only remember Christine, his angel, comforting him in his fear by holding him close in her bed. I will keep that one moment to myself. I will remember it forever. I will remember the night I helped my Erik weather the storm.


	13. Chapter 13: Monstrosity

**A/N: Posing schedule? What posting schedule? Haha. Sorry about that, everyone!**

 **Summary: A picnic on the roof turns to a discussion of self-worth.**

Chapter 13: Monstrosity

A few birds flew overhead. Or perhaps they were bats. It was hard to tell in the darkness. The only light came from the great dome of glass behind them, the warm glow that filtered up from the street below, and from the moon up above.

Christine smiled into the breeze that came to tease at her curls. She closed her eyes. This was what blissful happiness felt like, she was sure. She was aware of Erik's stare beside her. He loved watching her in moments like this. She was naturally beautiful, but rarely as much as she was when in nature itself. He had been thrilled to see her smile at his proposed picnic on the roof.

'You look lovely as always, my dear,' he told her, unable to help his admiration.

She smiled at him, placing her hand on his arm affectionately. 'You look nice too, Erik.'

He looked down with a smile at her reply. 'The stars themselves are dim compared to your light. You outshine even the moon this evening. I am undeserving of such beauty in my life.'

She sighed. 'Erik, you always say such beautiful things about me. I only wish you would think such things of yourself for once.'

He huffed mirthlessly. 'Why should I ever think such things when they will never be true?'

'Because they are true!' she insisted with such resolve that he was inclined to agree simply out of love for her. She was such a kind, good girl. He told her as much and she only sighed. 'Erik, when are you going to realise that you are much better than you give yourself credit for being?'

'Oh, believe me, I do. My hopes concerning you are often quite higher than they should be. I think myself worthy of even your slightest glance. That self-indulgence is something that I would not part with for the world.'

Christine rolled her eyes. 'Why do you always think yourself a monster?'

'Because I am one.'

'How? In what way do you behave monstrously?'

'Oh, let's see,' he said, looking up at the sky ponderously. 'I have lied to you by making you believe me an angel, I consistently extort money from the managers (though I see it more as my payment for making this theatre run smoothly), I have murdered a man in cold blood, not to even mention all of the unspeakable evils I committed in my time in Persia. How long do you want me to go on for, my dear? I fear we shall be up here all night if I list everything.'

'But you have changed, haven't you?' she persisted.

Erik sighed. 'For you, darling, I should certainly hope to. I strive for it each and every day. I wish to be deserving of you in at least some small way, vain as that hope may be.'

Christine looked at him hard. He would simply not let this go. She got an idea quickly and felt her eyes darken and become hooded. 'Erik,' she said in an enticing voice, making him stiffen but his eyes shine with suddenly deepening desire. 'Do you trust me?'

He gulped slightly. 'I…yes,' he stuttered out.

She leaned forward until he could fully smell her rose perfume. It filled his senses and intoxicated him unlike any drug he had experienced. Her hands slid up his chest and looped around his neck, pulling him forward some. He leaned in easily, ever one to obey her. It was only when her lips touched his that his senses were seemingly lost to him forever.

He practically saw stars bursting before his eyes as her lips caressed his in the softest touch he had ever known. Her mouth tasted sweet from the strawberry biscuits he had made for her. He could not stop his hands from coming up to capture her in his arms. She was so light and fit so perfectly into his every curve and angle. It was as though they were made for each other. His missing other half.

Finally, when they were both out of breath he released her lips, but kept her close to him, burying his face into her deliciously scented curls. He loved every inch and ounce of this woman.

'Now,' she said, snuggling her cheek in against his neck. 'Since you trust me, you know I would not willingly kiss a monster.'

He smiled tearfully against her. 'Then I am hiding my true nature far better than I think, my dearest.'

Christine pulled back from him to look him in the eye. He looked moments from crying, but so was she. Hers, however, would be out of frustration rather than bliss.

'You are truly a thick headed idiot sometimes, you know that?'

He hummed thoughtfully. 'I think you have been spending too much time with the Daroga.' She gave him a look of further frustration. 'I am not saying he or you are wrong, though.'

She got a quirk to her smile then, making his heart clench. It was beautiful as always. His darling Christine always knew how to save him from emotional collapse, or at least bring him back out of it.

'Erik, I cannot continue on with you thinking that you are horrible or undeserving of even my simplest affections.' She let her lip come out to a slight pout. He grinned at her adorability before the severity of her words hit home.

'Christine, what do you propose doing?' he asked, dreading her answer. He only prayed that she would not insist upon leaving him. He was certain that the distance would kill him. He could not contemplate being without her. She was detrimental to his happiness.

She stood, going over to the edge of the roof. She turned to face him, her brow set in determination. 'Do you still think yourself a monster?' she asked, her tone challenging. He feared her reaction to his answer, but he feared lying to her more.

'Yes,' he admitted truthfully.

Holding out her arms, she lifted her face to the sky, and started to tip backwards.

Erik did not even think. He did not have the time to. He was on his feet, racing to her, and a cry of her name splitting the air around them. In an instant she was in his arms, his tears welling as he dragged her away from the edge, finally falling backwards to sit as he held her. He petted her hair and mumbled a thousand promises of love and begged her forgiveness as well as her promise to never do that again.

'Oh, Christine,' he whispered with such reverence it took her breath away. 'Please do not toy with me so. I love you, my darling. There is nothing I would not do for you. Please do not test my heart. I could not live without you, my love. Please, please, please…' he said over and over again into her hair.

When he slowly began to calm his words, leaving only his tears flowing forth over her, she managed to speak.

'A monster would have let me fall. You, Erik, are no monster.'

'Oh yes I am,' he told her firmly.

'Why?'

'Because now that I have you in my arms, I never intend to let you go.'

Christine found her eyes pricking as she dug herself somehow deeper into his embrace. He may not see his own value, but he saw hers quite clearly. She would simply have to return the favour.


	14. Chapter 14: Sentiment

**A/N: This one is…unusual compared to some of the others. I hope you all like it!**

 **Summary: A trip into Erik's mind upon hearing the three words he never dreamed he ever would.**

Chapter 14: Sentiment

'I love you.'

Those words. For so long I had yearned with every ounce of my being to be able to hear them spoken to me just once. Even if it was platonic. Hell, I would have taken 'I tolerate you' or 'I find elements of you not repulsive'. Yet, these three words had eluded me in all but my wildest dreams.

I must have stood in stunned silence for too long. She stares at me, concern starting to knit her brow. I want to speak, to reassure her, but my voice has failed. My mind is spinning in circles over the seemingly impossible words she has uttered with her natural grace. She always says the most difficult things as if they are nothing at all. She feels no struggle or duress to speak her mind and heart. I suppose that is one of the many things I adore so completely about her. She is kind and beautiful without limits. Not that I would ever strive to limit her. She is like a goddess; all powerful and destructive. It is an awesome beauty I cannot look away from. Less frightening or horrible than a train wreck, but just as addictive to watch.

'Erik?'

Her voice, God! Her voice is like the angels' song to me. I could listen to her speak all day. Even if she was yelling at me. The only time I find it less than savoury is when she cries. I hate to see her cry. I love her too much to see her in any pain. I have to grit my teeth when she cries from pleasure. On those rare moments I make her happy enough to overwhelm her senses. I am proud of those moments, in some ways, but not in the fact that her sea blue eyes have to cry because of it.

'Erik, are you all right?'

I am tempted to shake my head, and perhaps I do, for I soon feel her hands holding my arms in concern. I am beyond 'all right'. I am floating on the clouds of bliss. She is my whole world and somehow, as only she can, she made it better. She is the light of my life, truly. I would give everything up for her. Her love is paramount to my own pleasure, though they were one and the same. I smile when she does, I laugh when she does, I feel my heart clench when she hums in happiness at being near me. To be near her is the closest I have ever come to seeing Heaven. I will never get there, I know. I would not deserve it. I would not want to, though. I would be disappointed. It would never match the beauty of my love and her perfect face.

'Erik, please say something.'

I grow concerned at her voice and the worry that was creeping into it. She is an angel. She should never have to fret, least of all over a wretch like me. Oh, but she loves me! That is all that matters. I have her love. I do not care what type of love it is. She can love me like a daughter does her father, like a sister does a brother, or simply like a friend to another. I do not have a preference. As I stated, any love is enough for me.

'Erik.'

This time my mind starts to come back. Tears are in her eyes. How I love and hate that sight. I hate it because she is hurt or scared, which I promised myself she would never be around me, and I love it because it amplifies the colour of her irises. They look like the crystalline lakes and fountains in Persia. The watering of her eyes makes them glisten and shine like gemstones. I love them so dearly. They are a part of her.

I try my best to snap out of my stupor, but she is so beautiful. I get lost simply staring into her watering gaze, noting how her cheeks are turning redder. They had been pink when she told me she loved me, but now they are flushing from the tears that slowly roll down her face.

'I broke you.'

I almost laugh at her choice of words. No, she had broken me long ago. She had captured my heart in her lovely hands from the moment she had first sung in the Opera House, not even knowing I was there to overhear her. She had stolen my soul from me when she had first touched me. And my body had been wretchedly thrown at her feet in hopes that she would accept it as well. That was the part I feared she would reject. Yet, in her admission, I take it to mean at least partial acknowledgment of all aspects of me are accepted. She does not have to like every facet of my character and form, but she can at least know that they were mine and not likely to wholly change.

My will has not been my own since she has touched my life. My actions only serve to reflect this. Still, I have hurt her, so I cannot in all honesty claim that every act of mine has been for her betterment or by her will. I am a selfish, cruel, twisted being. She knows this. I love her for knowing it because against all sense she has stayed. Perhaps it is insanity or merely foolishness, but I will never begrudge her presence. I am a slave for her. I shamelessly admit to this. I would lay at her feet for her to step on simply for the joy of her touch. I would take any beating or harsh word and thank her for her attentions.

Joy of all joys, she rests her head against me as she cries. I can only barely make out a few sobbed apologies. I want to ask for what, but her head against my chest is enough to send me over the edge. I had thought I was already over, but like always, she proves me wrong by bestowing even more affection I do not deserve.

If her love were a loan of money, I would be indebted to her for six generations, possibly more. She has touched me, spoken to me, cried over me, and loved me. What more could a man ask for? And yet so many do. That was why they do not deserve her either. I do not begin to think myself worthy of her, but they are not winning themselves any favours by constantly asking or wanting more. Of course, I have dreamt of more. So much more. But I know better than to ask or consider it. I chastise myself over wanting her love rather often. She does not know it, and that is good. I fear harming her delicate sensibilities. I am a horrid being. She need not know how truly horrid.

At some point my arms have taken over and come round to hold her comfortingly. Were they sentient beings, they would sigh and roll their eyes at realising my mind is not working properly and I am failing even more than usual. A strange thought, I know. I seem to be full of them. Sometimes—blessed days—Christine laughs at them. She will occasionally laugh at my jokes. No one has ever done that. The Daroga simply glares at me or shakes his head, but he never laughs. He finds my humour too morbid. I suppose that makes Christine morbid. I never really thought about it. It bothers her that I sleep in a coffin, but only because she fears death to those she is attached to. It is not the coffin or death that bothers her, but the death of me. She fears losing me. Sweet girl.

Looking down at the gift in my arms, I know that I smile. She is so soft and warm. I could happily fall asleep with her against me. Hell, I could happily die in this position. Though she would not be happy. We cannot have Christine unhappy. I have sworn to myself to never do anything that displeases her. Of course, I have failed miserably in my every attempt at keeping true to this. I have made her cry from pain, sorrow, and loss. I have made her yell at me in hate and made her despise being in the same room as me. Not that I can blame her, mind you. I am a fairly disgusting being, if I do say so myself. But for her I would try to change all of that. I _do_ try. I am simply not very good at succeeding.

She meets my gaze, likely noting how much like a love sick school boy I look. It is an expression I always have possessed when she is in view. I adore her. I worship the ground she walks on.

'Erik,' she beseeches, her voice timid and beautiful. It is innocence that powers her. It is an innocence I lost in myself long ago. Rather, it was forcefully ripped from me. She should never have to feel that pain. I will protect her naïveté for as long as I can with all of the strength I am granted. She should never have to know the struggles life can bring. I want only her happiness.

'Yes, my dear?' I finally ask. I am unaware of my mouth moving. Perhaps, like my arms, it decided not to wait on my clearly addled brain to order it about. Her eyes brighten at the sound of my voice. If I had known it would bring her such joy, I would have spoken sooner. I know I should have, but I was otherwise engaged in the swirling haze of my own thoughts.

'Erik, did you hear me?'

I tilt my head curiously at her. She thinks I did not hear her when she spoke? She thinks that I would miss a single word that came from those perfect, rose-petal lips? Even when I am up to my ears in compositions, I hear her every utterance. I know I worry her, I know that I vex her, and I know that I charm her. This last is enough to nearly send me tumbling back into my fog of disbelieving pleasure. I charm her and she loves me. She loves me for my charm, I am certain. Why else would she love me? What other quality could I possibly have that would make her even like me, let alone love me?

'I said I love you,' she explains at my continued, dazed silence.

My hand, trembling like a leaf in autumn, reaches up to pull on strand of her delectably curling hair over her ear. I adore it when it falls in her face. When she is cross, it always manages to arrange itself into a dark, messy halo about her flushed face. I love it.

I open my mouth to reply, but the words I am about to say get choked in my throat as I realise the significance of them. The whole ordeal washes over me again in the greatest euphoria. I was about to say, "I love you, too." I was about to return my love, which is unusual, for she has given hers to me. I have the chance to _return_ the sentiment. She _loves me_! It is almost too much as I realise my eyes are swimming with tears.

'Erik?' she asks, her brow knitting slightly. Her forehead has the most beautiful habit of creasing right between her delicate eyebrows and it mesmerises me. I want to touch it with the tip of my finger and smooth it away, but I know I am not bold enough to do so. The most I will ever touch her face is to wipe away an errant tear or possibly, if I am brave, I will gently run the back of my fingers along the curve of her cheek. I have been known to tip her chin up to look at me, though that is something less personal, I find. The flush in her cheeks when I do so makes me wonder, however.

I realise I am distracted when she continues on without my full attention. I will always hear her, but that does not mean my mind is not divided.

'Do you love me, Erik?'

Suddenly my mind fully emerges from the pit it has been sitting in, looking up and admiring the beauty that will always be above me and out of my reach. I look at her with true consciousness behind my eyes and I somewhat guiltily realise I have startled her in doing so. My hands move to her arms as I clutch them firmly, but not enough to harm her. My eyebrows raise in alarm as the fullness of her words sink in. All of this happening in the blink of her wide, pristinely blue eyes.

'Of course I love you, Christine!' I tell her earnestly, almost shaking her in my drive to prove my sincerity. 'I love you beyond hope, beyond life, and beyond reason! I will do anything for you! I will give my life and world to you! Christine, doubt what you will of my character, but never doubt my love for you!' I am shouting and crying and shaking her. I am a raving lunatic and I can see the reasonable presence of fear in her eyes at this transformation. I know she worries for my sanity. She often comments over my changeable moods. She has berated me on them enough both in mutters and in open accusations. She has called me difficult, impossible, temperamental, demanding, confusing, and once, in extreme anger, insane. And yet not once have I denied her these descriptions. And not once has she promised never to return.

I feel my face drain of colour when I look at her somewhat paralyzed expression. I freeze before letting her arms go with something of a jolt. I step back and feel my shoulders rise. I know she becomes uncomfortable when I make such fervent admissions of my affection for her. She always looks away shyly for we both know she will have no return of sentiment. She cares about me to some extent, but never enough to speak as I do.

'I-I…forgive me.' I duck my head down, feeling myself shrink to nearly the same height as her. 'Forgive me.' My eyes are watering as I feel the sting of silent rejection fall on my shoulders. I have pushed too far. I have hurt her sensibilities by saying too much. She felt inclined to reply, but she simply does not feel the same way. I have made her uncomfortable and now she will feel badly every time she looks at me. She knows I love her more than she ever could me and yet she could not be cruel enough to break my heart and leave. It has been like this for some time. Almost since the moment I had first admitted my love to her. It is a slow, torturous pain that has stayed with me always, coming only to a partial head when I blurt out my heart again. She did not mean to hurt me, but she has. I love her anyway. I will gladly take the long lasting pain if she only promises to stay near me. I had resigned myself early on to only watching her through the mirror if she refused to see me again. I would not go against her wishes, though I also knew I would die without her in my life.

Her hand, her gentle, calming, beautiful hand touches my shoulder. I feel the heat of her skin spread through the fabric of my jacket and touch my skin. I have to take a breath at the realisation that something of hers was touching my skin. Then, to my surprise, it is accompanied by the other hand. She turns me round to face her. I still hang my head, not daring to fully meet her eyes. She ducks down some to be below the level of my chin but comes back up to hold me.

'I will not forgive you,' she whispers in my ear, prompting a sob to escape my lips. 'Because,' she continues loudly enough so that I can hear her over my own despair, 'I love you.'

I hold her to me, despite my confusion. My angel has a way of saying things that do not make complete sense, and though I adore her for them, I still cry over not being forgiven.

'I love you, Erik. I know that you love me more than I could ever deserve.' She must have felt me open my mouth to object, for she quickly continues, 'And I know that you think I am an angel and perfect and it flatters me every time, though I wish you would see me as just Christine. I am nothing special except in your eyes. Maybe one day you will see that, maybe you won't. Either way, I know you are truthful when you tell me you love me. I know you trust me, and I have come to trust you, even though you have done things I disapprove of.'

I whimper another apology at this. She pulls me back to look me in the eyes. 'Erik,' she says sternly, though her expression is one of kindness, 'I love you.'

I know I must be a snivelling mess, but I manage a smile through it anyway. 'I love you, too.' My voice still catches at the end with a sob and I sink to my knees, entwining my arms about her waist as I cry into her stomach. I must have repeated the impossible phrase a thousand times over along with innumerable promises of my devotion. Her hands play in my hair, smoothing it, and brushing my red ears as I wail and beg and promise.

After a while, when I lean back and she has to stop me from crying further over the wet spot I have made in her dress, she tugs me to my leaden feet. They heavily follow her as I sniffle pitifully over to the long sofa. She sits down at one end and directs me to the seat beside her.

I sit rigidly as I always do when in such close proximity to her, but she tugs at my arm. I look at her in watery puzzlement until she forces me to tip over. She places my head in her lap, having me lay down on the sofa. I gaze up in a confused daze while she continues to play with my hair. She smiles down at me like the angel she is and speaks calming words of endearment to me.

Against my better judgement, I let go of the hands I have snatched as they move to my mask. I let her take it off, revealing my now wetted face in all of its raw, flushed hideousness. She smiles at this too. I close my eyes, wondering if I will die from happiness. I wonder if I already have died and this is my Heaven. I stop this contemplation, however, when I remember a handful of my truly mountainous number of sins. I will never go to Heaven, yet the idea that this moment is a reality refuses to stick in my mind. Deciding it is all a dream, I let myself relax. I know I will wake up to find myself alone in my house under the lake, so why not enjoy the illusion of happiness while it lasts? I hum blissfully when she caresses my cheek with her pale fingers.

I find it odd when I awake in the same position, this time to find Christine working on her sewing. If it had all been a dream, how can I experience the feeling of waking? She smiles down at me and shows me her progress when I look at it curiously. It is a beautiful bouquet of roses, much like the ones I had given her some weeks back for her bedroom. I smile back, knowing my dearest is a multitalented angel. I tell her as much and it earns me a gentle touch on the cheek that trails down tantalisingly to my chin and throat. I sigh into her hand as she leans over me. I begin to worry some at the proximity of our faces, but all thought washes from my brain when her lips touch my forehead.

My body spasms, wanting to simultaneously shoot off the sofa as well as melt into it. Her lips are soft and her breath warm against my terrible flesh. I know it is no joy to touch my face, let alone put one's lips to it. Lips are far more sensitive than fingers and I can only imagine the disgust she must have rising in her at this moment. I do not relish the idea of seeing it written across her features when this prolonged experience of sheer bliss ends. My mind has let time slow, you see. It is generous like that sometimes.

Putting aside what she would be feeling, I try to memorise everything I am currently feeling. It is like the first light of spring coming in through the window of a cottage. It is warm like her embraces, only concentrated to one small point on my wholly undeserving face. Her hands hold my cheeks, ensuring I cannot flee, though I am not certain my limbs could coordinate enough to do anything more than tremble and then freeze.

I have never, in my entire life, been kissed. Not once. Not a single peck on the cheek. Lips have never come anywhere near my face and only Christine is allowed to hold my hands if she so chooses. I wonder, somewhere in a recess of my flurrying mind, what it would feel like to have her lips graze the skin between my front two knuckles. Heaven, I tell myself, it would feel like Heaven.

Here is my angel, strong, kind, and above all the most beautiful woman I have ever had the immense pleasure of seeing, kissing my wretched face. I could die from the joy of it. Coupled with everything else that had transpired, I am curious to know how I have remained alive, let alone conscious. Perhaps my nap on her legs was more a fainting spell.

All too soon—this thought I reprimand myself for having—, she pulls back, removing her lovely mouth from my skin. I hear her coo in pity. I had closed my eyes when I felt her end the moment. I did not want to see her disgust. I could imagine the sight of her kissing me was still happening. I could hold that picture in my mind even as she threw me from her lap and left in fear of her actions. I would die with that memory haunting me as she regretted her time with me and went away forever.

I must have started crying again, for I hear her above me say, 'Oh, Erik. Don't cry. Did I hurt you, darling?' I prove my assumption further by gasping out a sob. I put my hands to my face, careful to avoid tainting the spot where she kissed me with my touch. I shake with my silent sobs.

She continues to search out my attention, her voice laced with pity and concern. I hate to hear it in her, but I am too far gone to offer comfort. My mind is lost. I have no idea what I am going to do now.

'You kissed me,' I mutter out from behind the mask my hands have made.

'Yes, my darling.'

The pet name she has assigned to me does not escape my notice. 'You have cursed me.'

'What?'

Oh, precious darling! She does not realise how she tortures me. My sweet and innocent lamb!

I take a breath, trying to find air enough to explain my thoughts. 'I could have lived happily and I would have let you go if you asked, but now…now I cannot fathom you not being by my side. You have cursed me. I will crave your touch now. I will want more kisses, and I know I cannot have them. I do not deserve them. You have cursed me to want things I cannot have. You have cursed me.' I repeat these last words many times over before I can continue. 'I knew I would die when you left me, but now I will die with the desire to have had more.'

I lie there for a while, quivering with the despair that wracks my body, until I feel something hit my hands. It is small and runs down to my wrist. It is a tear.

I move my hands away to see my angel crying in the most beautiful way. Only she can make crying look so glorious. I sit up instantly and kneel on the sofa beside her, my face the picture of frantic worry as she sits perfectly still, and silently crying.

'Christine!' I reach out, but my fingers curl back from her, not daring to touch her.

'Why do you always say such cruel things? Why do you think I do not love you?' she weeps, not looking at me.

My shoulders could not have dropped lower. 'I did not say it to be cruel to you, Christine. I would never be cruel to my love.'

'No!' she shouts, turning to look at me with watery, blazing eyes. 'You are always saying bad things about yourself, acting like you are nothing, like you are less than nothing! I hate it! You are special, Erik. I love you!'

I open and close my mouth a few times before finally landing on a cohesive thought. 'Because, my dearest angel, I _am_ less than nothing. It is simply your presence that makes me worth anything. I am unworthy of you. I am unworthy of your compassion.'

'No you aren't! You are brilliant, funny, talented, and so very kind! Why do you debase yourself constantly? Why do you not believe me when I tell you these things?' she asks, watching me shake my head.

'Because I have never been anything until I met you. Christine,' I interrupt her argument, 'I have never been kissed before today. No one has ever touched my face the way you have. No one has ever told me they love me. How can I hear these things from you and believe it to be anything but a dream or trick? I thank you for it, I truly do, but that does not change the fact that I do not deserve it.'

She seems to melt, her eyes softening with kindness somehow more, and before I know it, I am wound tightly in her embrace again. My shaking arms come about her, but do not dare pull her in.

'Oh, my poor Erik,' she coos into my ear. I determine to silently take her sympathy, merely snuggling into her neck some. I seek out the heat of her body to warm my own. The way her hand comes up to hold the back of my head to her skin gives me hope that this is not wrong of me. 'Do you trust me?'

This is a big question to ask in an embrace, but I do my best to answer truthfully, also struggling to keep my lips from brushing her neck. I would surely faint if I did that.

'I do.'

Her arms tightened around me. 'Then you will believe me when I say that I love you.'

I swallow thickly, realising she expects a reply. 'Yes, though I do not know how you could say such things to one like me.'

'And you will believe me when I say that you are not the monster everyone believes you to be.'

I close my eyes tightly. All my life, I have held out the smallest glimmer of hope that I am not wrong in thinking the world has treated me unfairly. That all of the tortures I have endured were not deserved. Every time I have dared to listen to this voice, however, is the moment when it is thrown back into its dark cage. Someone would whip me or beat me or insult me for existing. I would once again be convinced that it was wrong to think I could have more. My desires for normality are wrong and flawed. I will know nothing but pain because I am a monster and nothing more.

Christine was giving strength to that hope. I feared the inevitable moment of its demise. It would hurt too much this time. I love her, and if she broke that hope, she would break me. I was afraid of her. I love her and trust her, but years of experience have taught me not to trust that hope.

My failure to respond makes her pull back some. My arms feel weak as I fight the ongoing battle of letting her go. I want to stay hidden in her embrace, letting my face be shielded from the world in her dark hair. I want to curl up into the warmth of her heart and stay safe. I knew I was crying again because of this struggle. She sees it and touches my face. I lean into it as if it can save me.

'Erik,' her voice beckons to me. I look up to see the strength I had long ago quashed, shining in her eyes. 'You are not a monster. You are a man and a beautiful one at that.'

Add being called beautiful to the list of firsts my darling has presented to me. I shake fiercely with my silent sobs, trying to hold them in and be strong for her. She wants me to be strong. She _needs_ me to be her strong and protecting Erik. She will need someone to look after her and I have promised to be that person. I cannot let her down now. I lift my head up high, though my throat complains of the strain as it shakes.

'I love you,' is all I can manage out.

She takes my face in her hands, holding me firmly but carefully. She looks into my eyes and I see clearly that her love for me is not as a daughter would love a father, it is not as a sister would a brother, nor is it even how a friend would love another. She love me as I love her.

Before I can melt into a puddle of pitiful tears, she claims my lips with her own. I see stars and galaxies and all the dreams I have ever hidden away. I see her love for me. There is no way to accurately describe a kiss born of love. It is wet, awkward at first, and very warm. But it is so much more. It is an amalgamation of mutual affection and desires. It is the most beautiful gift one can ever give. It is the journey of one's heart through their body and into the other's. I had thought I had given her my heart long ago, but as her breath mingles with mine in our joined mouths, I know that is false. It is in this moment that I have truly given her my being; body, mind, heart, and soul. All of it goes to her and at the same impossible moment, hers all came to me.

I cradle her jaw with my hands as I realise all she has given me. I will treasure it until the end of my days. She is beauty itself and through her love, I can see that I am not as horrid as I have been led to believe. Through her I am seen as something to be loved and respected, not feared and despised. I am a human being worthy of care and consideration to her.

I had promised her that I would do anything for her. Now I see that all she wanted is for me to see myself through her eyes. By believing her and trusting her, I would be whole. For once, this fact stuck and I no longer fear my death at her absence. She will stay. She will remain beside me as I had always hoped because she loves me.


	15. Chapter 15: For Encouragement

**A/N: It's been a long time since I updated this (sorry!), but I thought I would post this. I wrote it for and a kiss ask on Tumblr. I do, technically have more of these that I could edit and post, but I don't have access to them right at present. I will see about looking them over soon, though. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this!**

 **Summary: A kiss of encouragement.**

Erik stood at the doorway of their new home. He felt…uncertain. He was not used to living out of his house, nor being in the world of men for more than a few hours at a time. With this home he would be both. It was a drastic change and he was not sure how to proceed.

Christine, on the other hand, was flitting about from room to room, setting everything to rights. His darling wife was putting clothes in their bedroom. Their room. That was another change he had yet to fully swallow. She was perfection itself and here he stood, a looming shadow darkening her doorway.

He wondered, as he often did, if she would simply continue on as she was if he just disappeared. Would she notice if he vanished from her life? Would she be happier?

These thoughts of course did nothing but bring him down, something she was always able to sense somehow. She turned to see him, his shoulders slowly sagging farther and farther towards the floor as each new thought of self-depreciation raced through his mind. He looked utterly miserable, standing there all alone with their violin cases he had insisted on carrying himself.

'Erik?' she called to him from the middle of the living room. She had just finished putting away his shirts and was now about to arrange his few nicknacks on the mantle over the fireplace. She had already set his favourite reading chair where he had it in his home under the Opera.

His golden eyes slowly dragged to her face. She knew from his posture that he was not in good spirits, but the expression of complete hopelessness in his eyes proved it. She softened, smiling in the way she knew he loved, and held her arms open to him.

'Come on, darling. It's your home too.'

Erik looked at her for a long moment, then seemed to busy himself with the door frame instead. She huffed, putting her hands on her hips but keeping her smile. She would get nowhere if she did not encourage him. Yelling or nagging at him would only make him dig in his particularly bony heels more.

'Erik, you bought the house,' she gently reminded him.

'For you,' he clarified.

'For us, darling,' she persisted.

His gaze tracked back to her. His wife, shining in the light from the open windows, her long, chestnut curls spiraling down freely. Her blue eyes glistened like flowers dotted with morning dew. She was beautiful in candlelight, where her skin was soft and smooth; beautiful in stage light, where her smile beamed more radiantly than the sun; beautiful in natural light, where she looked free and angelic. She was simply beautiful.

And then there was Erik, King of Darkness. He was too tall, too thin, too pale, too broken, and far too hideous to deserve the love she showed him with every glance.

Yes, he had bought the home for both of them, but standing here, looking at her in this new place, it was clear that it was truly meant for her. She belonged here. She was happy here. From the moment he had first brought her to the house after their wedding, tentatively mentioning that they could move out here if she pleased instead of living underground forever, she had loved it. She had been so excited by the prospect of moving and having a garden and light and joy. Seeing her this way made him feel warm and happy, but he felt even more that she would slip away from him now.

Deep within his breast he felt the pull to snatch her in his arms and carry her off back to his home underground. He knew he had to fight that pull, but it was so sweetly tempting. It would be simple. He had done it before.

The pain returned with the memory of almost losing her after those last attempts to steal her away. Desperation clawed at him. He was trapped. He could not run away with her and he could not stay here. He would have to leave her. He would have to let her go…again.

Christine watched his inner battle. He was not listening to her. He was too deeply entwined with his demons to hear her words of comfort. She watched as a tear slipped free from his eye and plipped onto the floor before he ducked his head to hide his face.

Coming forward, she stood just in front of him and bent down to find his eyes. 'Erik?' She spoke kindly, softly. It was as though she was speaking to a child, and when he got like this, that was not too far off a comparison to make. 'Erik, love? What's wrong?'

He shook his head, hiding his masked face even more.

Taking the violin cases from his hands, she set them down on the window seat beside the door. Having ensured their safety for the moment, she turned back to her grieving husband.

She leaned in, wrapping her arms round his skinny middle and working her way closer so that she could rest her head on his chest.

His hands rose instinctively to hold her head and waist, bringing her even closer into him. She felt his breathing hiccuping from his withheld tears. He had worked himself up again and it was her job to calm him.

She rubbed his back, feeling the warmth from the sunlight heating the black fabric of his jacket. She could not help her smile at enjoying his embrace. The way he curled round her as though he was shielding her from all of the evils of the world. He would put his own back to the lash if it meant saving hers. He would bear all of the tortures of Hell for her to safely travel to Heaven. He was her guardian angel. But more than any of that, he was her husband; her Erik.

'I love you, Erik.'

He held her tighter. 'I love you, too, Christine,' he whispered into her hair.

'Darling,' she said, looking up at him and finally finding his brimming, golden eyes.

'Hmm?'

'Would you carry me over the threshold? I know you did that at the home in Paris, but I thought it would be nice to do it here, too.'

His eyes shone suddenly. He let out a gasping laugh. 'Of course, my angel. Anything for you.'

Stepping back outside the doorway, she hung onto his neck as he scooped up her legs. She adored being cradled this way in his arms, her nose fitting perfectly against the curve of his neck. It was easier to pepper him with kisses this way as she did not have to stand on tip-toe and drag his shoulders down. She pulled at the strings of his mask, removing it.

He looked at her to protest, but she covered his lips with her before he could speak. His shoulders melted and his eyes closed as he felt her warmth spread through him. The tension only returned when they broke apart and he faced the door once more.

Christine noted his dilemma and leaned in some. 'Let's start this life together,' she whispered before kissing his cheek in encouragement.

Erik held his head a little higher and even smiled some as he carried his wife into their new home and into the new life they would make together. She wanted him here, and so he would stay.


End file.
